Coyote Blue
by Obstreperous Wookie
Summary: AJ Tate has just checked himself out of the Eichen House. In order to control the change, he needs to find Scott McCall—the guy who forced him to change back from a coyote in the first place. [OC replacement of Malia Tate/Hale] Doesn't totally follow the show.
1. Enter AJ

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Teen Wolf.

A/N: This is something that has been kicking around my brain for a while. It replaces Malia Hale with my own character AJ. Let me know what you think.

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><p>It started when Sheriff Stilinski saw me walking along the road in the pouring rain. I was fresh out of Eichen House with nothing but the clothes on my back and knowledge that if I found Scott McCall, then he could help me control the change. And I wanted control. When Scott had gone full alpha on me, he had forced me to change back into a human, and now I was stuck. I needed to know how to control the change so that if need be, I could go back to partially being a coyote.<p>

Stilinski slowed his car, cutting into the rain with his bright headlights. I kept walking. Despite my very obvious lack of invitation, he drove the car beside me at a snail's pace. The passenger window rolled down, and I glanced over to see him craning his head to look at me. "AJ," he said, very reasonably, "get in the car."

I kept walking.

But he didn't give up. "Look, son, you're wet, and you're cold. At least come out of the rain. Let me take you somewhere dry."

I looked up sharply. "I'm not going back," I told him harshly. He didn't ask back to where, because I think he already knew. I wasn't going back to Eichen House, and I sure as heck wasn't going back to live with my so-called father.

Henry Tate was many things, but a patient man he was not. I'd been excited to see him at first, and he'd felt the same way. But then it became painfully obvious that the compounded knowledge of my missing eight years was too much to handle for him. He had shipped me off to the Eichen House in hopes that they would help me "better acclimate to the stresses of a new environment."

I hadn't totally known what that all meant, but the gist had been clear enough. He wasn't prepared to raise a teenage boy who had just spent eight years surviving in the forest and hills. There were so many things I didn't know, and my dad wasn't ready for that burden.

But he wasn't a cruel man. He had left the Eichen House paperwork open to both of us, so without his consent needed, I had checked myself out. He was basically taking the easy way out, but I was still free. And now I was walking in the pouring rain with nothing to guide me but the instinctual need to find Scott and get him to help me. It wasn't a great plan, but it was all that I had.

"I won't make you go back," Stilinski said after a pause, breaking me out of my thoughts. "You have my word." He looked thoughtful for a second. "Are you hungry? Oh, who am I kidding? You're a teenage boy. You're always hungry. Look, get in the car, and I'll take you somewhere to eat."

I hesitated, wondering if this was a trap. But it didn't seem like it. I stopped walking and studied Stilinski's face. He had been kind to me, when Stiles and Scott first made me change back. He had given me his jacket when I couldn't get warm, and more than that, he hadn't pushed me to talk about what had happened during those eight years. So at the very least, I could give him the time it took to eat one small meal.

Besides, I didn't have any money, and who knew when the next opportunity for food was going to come along.

I nodded finally and climbed into the car. I hoped he didn't mind that I was making his seat all wet. Stilinski said nothing, just cranked up the heating knob and turned the air on full blast. I guess he remembered, then, how hard it was for me to stay warm now that I wasn't covered in fur.

In the end, he took me to a diner. There was no fuss, he just dropped a hand onto my shoulder and steered me inside. He even let me choose the booth. I picked the one closest to the door, just in case I needed to make a quick exit. Then we sat.

He slid into the red vinyl seat across from me, studying me with tired eyes. It made me uncomfortable, but I didn't say anything. I wanted food more than I wanted to be comfortable. Finally, Stilinski let out a sigh, running a hand over his face. "I was trying to see it," he explained. "The family resemblance. I just...I don't." I shrugged. Right now I considered myself alone. I didn't have a family. Family meant loyalty, and my father had forfeited his when he had checked me into Eichen House.

The waitress walked up, giving the sheriff a wink. "Your usual, Sheriff?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Joan. And whatever the kid is having." They gave me expectant looks, and I squirmed under the weight of both gazes and picked the first thing that came to mind.

"Pancakes?" I asked, unsure if that was a thing at dinnertime.

Joan pursed her lips for a second, her pen still pressed to the little pad she carried. Her eyes measured me up and down, just as thoroughly as the sheriff's had. There wasn't as much tired skepticism in hers though. She just looked like she wanted to give me a hug. "It's a little late for pancakes. But for you, we can make an exception." Then she smiled. I stared back at her, and her smile faded a little before she walked away.

I turned back to the table, staring at my hands. People were complicated. It made me want to just go back to the forest. Except I couldn't. Not without learning how to control the change.

A minute later, Joan came back with two mugs balances on a tray. She set one down in front of Stilinski and then one in front of me. I stared down into it. The smell of chocolate wafted up from it. Chocolate, milk, cinnamon. "It's called hot chocolate, dear," Joan said, patting me on the shoulder. I tried not to jump at her touch. I didn't like being touched, but when she did it, it was different from the people at Eichen House.

She walked off, and the sheriff fixed his tired eyes on me. "So what's your plan?" He tore the top off a packet labeled sugar and dumped it into his drink. Coffee. I remembered that smell.

My eyes flicked back up to his as I remembered his question. My plan? I didn't have one. And even if I did, I wouldn't have told him. But then again…Stiles and Scott were friends. If I told Stilinski, maybe he would take me to Scott.

"I need Scott's help," I finally told him. If he was surprised, it didn't show.

He shook his head. "What's your long-term plan?" I stared at him blankly, not understanding. He sighed. "Where are you going to stay, AJ? Who's going to take care of you?"

I bristled. "I can take care of myself," I snapped.

Stilinski held his hands up. "No, I know. I'm sorry. It was a bad choice of words on my part. What I meant was, you're going to need someone to look out for you. To sign papers, to make sure you have food and clothes, to be your legal guardian."

I took a sip of my hot chocolate, and it was good. It was good, and I kind of remembered drinking something like it all those years ago. I looked back up at Stilinski. "I can't." The words kind of stuck in my throat, but I wanted him to understand. I couldn't do another thing like living with my dad, and I really couldn't do something like the Eichen House again. "I can't…do it like it was with Henry or the House."

He looked kind of sad. Sad, but not confused. He understood what I was saying. Maybe I was getting better at this communicating thing. There had been a psychologist at the Eichen House. She was the only person I had liked there with the exception of Stiles. She had told me that communication was important, and that words were my greatest tool to make people understand how I was feeling. _Words not fists, AJ,_ she had told me repeatedly. I was still working on that part.

"Okay," Stilinski said finally. "Let's just eat first, and that'll give me time to think."

Joan came back with our food. The sheriff had a hamburger and French fries. "Thanks, Joan," he said as she slid his plate in front of him.

"Thanks," I echoed, when she gave me my plate. It was polite. Or so the House psychologist had said. Please and thank you were apparently polite. I hadn't needed to say them in the forest, so I was a little rusty. _Please stand still, rabbit, so I can eat you. Thank you, rabbit, for being slow enough to catch._ Nope, it just didn't fit.

The pancakes were good, though. Better than Henry could make. I didn't know how to make food at all, so they were definitely better than I could make.

When Joan came back to check on us, I practiced smiling. It must have worked, because Joan got this little sparkle in her eyes, and she came back a second later with a towel for me. Oh. Smiles equal friendly. Friendly equals more generosity from people. I had to remember that for later.

When I turned back to the table, I found Stilinski staring at me. "You know, I think that's the first time I've seen you smile." He reached over the table towards me, and I flinched out of sheer reflex. But all he did was shake the towel out and drape it over my shoulders. Oops.

The sad look was back on his face after that, and we ate without saying anything more. As we got closer and closer to finishing, I got more and more nervous. I couldn't help myself from shifting and fidgeting. I thought the sheriff would have been annoyed—Henry hadn't been able to stand it when I couldn't stop moving—but Stilinski didn't even seem to notice.

Then finally, after taking one last sip of his coffee, he addressed my unease. "I'm not going to take you back, AJ," he said with a long-suffering sigh. Oh. That was good. I relaxed a little. Setting his coffee mug down, he ran a thumb over the rim. "I know a guy. He's a good man." The sheriff shook his head slightly, as if mentally correcting himself. "Well, he's not much older than you. But he's good with teenagers…and you know, your…type of thing."

I tilted my head at him. My type of thing. Did he mean being a werecoyote? I shifted, getting ready to bolt, but Stilinski reached over and set a hand on my arm. I could have run. I could have easily pulled free, but something stopped me.

"He'll give you a roof over your head, and he's old enough to be your technical legal guardian," Stilinski said quietly. "But most importantly, he'll give you space. He won't try and force you to be something you're not, but he _will_ make sure you're in control."

My head snapped up at that last part. Control. I never wanted to be out of control again. The night of the crash, I hadn't been in control, and my family had paid the price for it. And now I had no control. Again. I didn't want anyone else to pay for it. Maybe, just maybe, this unknown guy could help me.

I nodded, unable to meet the sheriff's eyes, and he let go of my arm. Joan came back, glancing at my half eaten plate of pancakes. She had an unhappy air about her when she saw it, and I kind of got why.

At Eichen House, they had portioned out a "well-balanced diet." Basically it meant that they controlled what you ate and when you ate it. I had never been able to finish my meals there. Spending years as a coyote had made me lean and my stomach small. I was used to eating whenever I caught something, which was usually a small rabbit whenever I could. Small scraps of food on a random basis.

But at Eichen House, they had actual meals, three times a day, every day. I could eat maybe one. Sometimes two, if I ate bits and pieces of both. The bottom line was, I couldn't handle the amount of food they pushed at me. They had called it passive-aggressive and had written me off with an "obsessive need to control the environment around me."

I called it a disgusting overabundance of food and had written them off as thick-headed, overbearing, fascist morons. I'd learned the word fascist from Stiles. He'd said it meant dictatorial. I'd thought that fit them quite well over at Eichen House.

Either way, I wasn't very good at eating this much food yet. Spend eight years as a coyote, I wanted to tell people. It's excellent portion control. But people never saw it that way. They saw my lean frame and the uneaten food, and they disapproved.

"You want a box, sweetie?" Joan asked kindly. A box? Why would I need a box?

"Box would be great, Joan," Stilinski interjected when I didn't answer fast enough. Joan came back with a Styrofoam box, and handed it to me. Oh, a box to take my food with me. Yes. I wanted that. I shoveled my pancakes into the box and folded the lid closed.

We stood, and Stilinski paid. I kept a tight hand on my box. I didn't want to lose it, especially when I didn't know where my next meal was coming from. We walked back out to the sheriff's car, and I climbed in again. I started shivering as the evening air made my wet clothes even colder. Stilinski turned up the heat, and we sat in the diner parking lot with the car running for a while. Finally he pulled out onto the road, and we started driving through town. We wove through the residential area, working our way deeper into the warehouse district. I didn't remember all the buildings and the streets being there, but it was faintly familiar. This part of the city was relatively unchanged even in the last eight years. Eventually, we came to a stop outside a warehouse.

There was a dark SUV, not unlike the sheriff's, already parked there. We got out, and I got the familiar urge to run. Run to where, I didn't know. But something was weird about this place, and it made me uneasy.

Unfortunately, I had taken too long to decide, because Stilinski walked over, putting a hand on my shoulder. I wondered if Stiles was as jumpy as I was, because the sheriff seemed highly practiced at spotting and diffusing the moments when I was about to lose it.

He guided me forward, and we came to a staircase. I hesitated at the bottom, but the sheriff urged me on. Slowly, I started climbing. It was like four flights of stairs, and by the time we got to the top, the sheriff was breathing hard. I waited patiently for him, and together we walked forward into the gloom of the warehouse interior.

We came to a wide door. It was the sliding kind, and it reached all the way to the ceiling. But then again, we were in a warehouse, so it really wasn't that unthinkable. The sheriff rapped against the metal door with a hand. Then he stepped back, keeping his other hand squarely attached to my shoulder.

It was good for him that he did, because I was seriously thinking about running. But something in his touch was reassuring, and I wondered why it felt different depending on who was doing the touching. Henry had put his hand on my shoulder sometimes. I hadn't liked it, and he had been my own father. The orderlies at the House had touched my shoulders or sometimes my arms, and I hadn't liked that, either.

It was different, though, when Stilinski did it. And that was something I didn't understand.

There were footsteps. They were very, very quiet, but I could hear them. I could also hear the heartbeat of the person on the other side of the door. Finally, the door slid open, and I was confronted by a tall man. He was big.

His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was wearing a t-shirt. It showed off his physique with ease, and I wondered vaguely if I could take him in a fight. Probably not. I moved my gaze up to his face, deciding that was a question for another day. He had a strong jaw, covered in dark stubble. A proud nose, heavy brow. And his eyes. He stared down at me with hazel eyes bordering on green. They were unamused, and they pinned me in spot very easily.

_He will make sure you are in control_, Stilinski had said back at the diner. Yeah. I could see that. I could see that very easily.

"Derek," the sheriff said pleasantly, his grip tightening on my shoulder in warning. Damn it, the man knew me almost better than I knew myself.

"Sheriff Stilinski," Derek said back. It was almost a growl, but not quite. His voice was low and smooth, promising no tolerance for pretty much anything.

"This is AJ. He needs a place to stay while he gets a handle on…things." Whooap, there it was. That was the sheriff, right down to business.

Derek's eyes narrowed, but I met them. Looking away first was a sign of submission. All predators knew it. Derek stared me down, and finally I couldn't take it anymore. I looked down at my shoes, trying to suppress the shivers that were coming back. It was times like this that fur was utterly useful. Being in wet clothes was even worse. It was like the opposite of fur. On a spectrum, there was fur, then there was no fur, and then there was being in wet clothes.

I hated it.

I clenched my jaw tightly, just to keep my teeth from chattering. If the sheriff felt my tremors, he said nothing. But his hand was still there, warm and comforting on my shoulder. I couldn't see his face, but if I had to guess, I was thinking that Stilinski was staring Derek down with his patented tired, patient look. I think it was a dad thing, because I had seen the look many times on Henry's face when I had stayed with him. Though his was more of an annoyed-tired look instead of Stilinski's tired-patient combo.

Finally, Derek sighed. He backed up, letting us inside, before sliding the door shut again. The sheriff propelled me forward. I shuddered and shook my way into the loft, still clutching my box of food. We came to a stop in the middle, and a second later, a folded blanket came flying through the air. The sheriff caught it before it hit me in the chest. It was a good thing he did, because I wasn't willing to let go of my food to catch it. Eight years of survival instincts were hard to overcome.

Just like the towel, Stilinski shook out the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders almost without thought. I looked around the loft, careful to avoid the piercing eyes that were locked onto me.

The loft was pretty bare, which I liked. On the far wall, there was a large window, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. There was a large table in front of it, and off the right was a bed. To the left of the window was a winding metal staircase, and in the center of the room was a couch and a small coffee table. Then, through the gaping hole of the brick wall on the right, I could see glimpses of a fridge and kitchen.

Derek uncrossed his arms, motioning for us to sit down on the couch. He didn't look pleased at having to talk to us, but the sheriff pushed me along anyways. Once seated, Stilinski plucked my food from my cold, shivering fingers and put it on the coffee table. I had to fight the urge to pick it back up again, but I hid it by closing my fingers into a tight fist and resting them on my thigh. I still couldn't help but stare at the box, though. Instincts—hard to overcome. Besides, it was easier to look at my food than the man angrily straddling the chair across from us.

"Look, I don't know any other way to say this, but the kid needs someplace safe to stay." Sheriff Stilinski, going to bat for me. I wondered why he was so willing when Henry had not been. Stilinski wasn't even related to me, and it didn't make any sense.

Derek's jaw twitched. "Oh, so you naturally thought 'I'll bring him to Derek Hale.'" He said his own name with a small tinge of bitterness, like maybe people didn't have a very high opinion of him. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and settled back into the couch. I had no opinion of him other than he would probably kick my butt from here to Atlanta if I did anything to displease him. But right now I wasn't too worried.

I was starting to get warm, and I had a full belly. There was food for tomorrow sitting right in front of me, so I didn't have to worry about that, either. Plus, the couch was super comfortable, better than the Eichen House beds. So yeah, I wasn't worried.

Stilinski said something in return, but I missed it. My eyes were getting heavier, and I wasn't really interested in their argument. Either Derek would take me, or he would kick me out. I didn't have much preference in either direction.

The words being shot back and forth faded into a gentle buzzing, and I let my head tip to the side against the soft material of the couch as warmth spread through my body. I was warm, I was full, and I was safe.

And with that, my eyes slid shut, and I let the world around me fade into oblivion.


	2. Blending In

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

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><p>I woke up in a strange bed in a strange room. Panic set in for a brief second before I remembered that the sheriff had brought me to Derek Hale's loft. And since I was still here, Derek must have agreed to take care of me, not that I needed much help in that department.<p>

I lifted my head blearily, taking in the muted grays of the room. The room itself was like a perfect rectangle. The bed took up most of one wall, and the door was immediately behind me. On the wall furthest from me, a tiny closet peered out from behind a half folded shutter door. On the right wall, there was a dresser, and on the left wall—the one with the door—was a desk with a chair. And everything was in various shades of gray.

"You're awake," growled a low voice from behind me. I startled, twisting in place to fix my sleepy gaze on the speaker. It was Derek. Who else would it be?

I turned back, knuckling my eyes clear of sleep. Then I dragged my legs up and dropped them over the side of the bed before sitting up. The blankets fell away, and I noticed I was wearing my same clothes as before. They were still damp. The hair on my arms raised almost immediately as the warmth from the blankets faded. But I tried to suppress the familiar shudders. It didn't work.

A wadded cloth hit me in the side of the head as I let out a yawn, and I held it up, blinking at it in confusion. It was a navy blue t-shirt. I blinked at it some more, not entirely certain about what I was supposed to get from it. Something else came flying through the air, but I caught it, having heard the movement this time. Slinky material was clutched in my fingers, and I recognized it for what it was. A pair of basketball shorts.

"Change out of your wet clothes, and I'll dry them." That was it for him apparently, because after uttering the terse instructions, he walked away.

I stood, peeling off my damp shirt with another shiver. The jeans were a bit harder, but I got them off too, slipping into the shorts with a huff. Then I straightened, and the shorts dropped right off me. Awesome. I pulled them back up and cinched the string in the waistband tight, tying it in a slip knot so that I'd be able to escape the shorts later. This time when I straightened, the shorts stayed on. Hallelujah.

With fumbling fingers, I pulled the shirt over my head and stuffed my arms into the sleeves. It hung on my frame loosely, yet another reminder on just how much bigger than me Derek was.

I walked out, holding my wadded clothes. Derek prowled by, taking them from me without a word and disappearing through another doorway. I looked around awkwardly, wondering what I was supposed to do. Stilinski was long gone, so I could no longer use him as my safety net.

Thinking it a relatively safe option, I sat down on the couch and fixed my gaze on an appropriately neutral object. It happened to be my box of pancakes. Right now, I wasn't hungry, but it never hurt to know where your food was. Survival 101.

Derek came back to the living room, and we remained there in silence. I didn't know what to say, if anything at all, and he probably didn't want to say anything either. Thankfully, the heavy silence was broken by loud footsteps outside the door. It was Stiles, one of the few people I knew.

I liked Stiles. He was one of the only wards at the Eichen House that hadn't called me "wild boy" and made fun of my general ignorance. I'd gotten into quite a few fights at the start, thus prompting Morrell's "Words not claws, AJ" speech. But it had never been an issue with Stiles.

Though it was true that I had decked him out when he'd first tried to talk to me. I had been pissed at what he and Scott had forced me to do. But he hadn't held it against me in the long run, and he was probably the closest thing I had to a friend. Not that I needed friends.

Still, when I heard the erratic footsteps and mild panting, I could easily identify who was jogging up to the door.

Derek could too. "What do you want, Stiles?" he called with the same kind of long-suffering sigh that Sheriff Stilinski had used with me, just as there was a knock on the door.

"A girlfriend, a small fortune, maybe some friends that are actually normal. But, I'll settle for you opening the door," bubbled the entirely too chipper voice that I'd grown to like at the Eichen House. "Besides, my dad sent me. I have some stuff for AJ that someone dropped by the station."

Derek slid the door open, and Stiles came into view, holding a large paper bag full of clothes. "Hey," he called to me, walking right past Derek without a second glance. He put the bag of clothes on the coffee table and flopped down on the couch next to me. After being still for maybe three seconds, he reached over and popped the lid of my box open, making a happy noise at the sight of pancakes.

My hand twitched, and I crumpled it into a fist, pinning it by my leg as I fought the growl that rose in my throat. I was human. Humans didn't growl at their friends. Humans didn't get territorial over things as simple as food. I was human now. But good Lord, I was definitely going to stop him if he tried to eat my food.

"Please, come in," Derek said dryly. "Make yourself at home." I got the feeling this wasn't the first time they'd had this particular conversation. Derek walked down the steps and proceeded to pace the length of living room, pausing at random moments to either stare at Stiles or sometimes me. Eventually he came to a stop, firmly fixing his serious gaze on me.

"Apparently, I am now your legal guardian." His displeasure was evident in his face, and his arms were crossed over his chest again. Stiles looked up at Derek for a second, and I used his momentary distraction to pull my box of the table and into my lap. I couldn't help it.

After my pancakes were safe, I processed what Derek had said, wondering how Stilinski had pulled that off.

Derek's next words cleared that up pretty quickly. "The sheriff kindly threatened to evict me if I didn't comply, citing construction without authorized building permits and several building code violations." Oh. Clever. Stilinski would have made a good coyote.

A muscle in Derek's cheek twitched, but then he softened, uncrossing his arms long enough to rub a hand over his jaw. "I can't offer much, but you'll have a roof over your head and you'll never be hungry." I looked up at that last part, wondering if he knew how careful I was with food. His gaze pinned me in place. Oh. Yes, he knew.

I nodded, remembering that acknowledgement was polite, and beside me, Stiles grinned. I didn't know why, and I didn't really care. I was already thinking of what would happen after this. All Derek would have to do was get permits and fix the violations, and then he could kick me out without a worry. But Stilinski had bought me a few weeks at least. Maybe that would be enough to find Scott and learn how to control the change.

Derek walked away after that, and Stiles turned to me, dropping a bomb. "So...since technically you're a minor...you have to go to school like the rest of us." My brain short-circuited, and I stared at Stiles blankly. School? No. I was not going to go to school. Stiles must have seen my reluctance, because he pursed his lips sympathetically. "Relax, Scott and I will help you. School is easy compared to surviving as a coyote for eight years."

"Okay," he said, practically vibrating with excitement. "First things first. School 101, as it were." I wondered if he knew how to sit still at all. It was distracting, all his movement. Maybe this was how Henry had felt when he had tried to talk to me. Stiles waved a hand in front of my face, making sure I was paying attention. "So basically, all new people have essentially the same problem. They don't know where they stand in the outdated social construct of an interpersonal pecking order."

I stared at him, not understanding any of those words. Derek walked by a second later. "You haven't established your place in the Pack hierarchy yet," he called over his shoulder. Oh, that made much more sense than whatever Stiles had said.

"Right. That's what I said," Stiles said with a shrug. He drummed the toe of his foot on the floor, and I stared at it, wondering if I could tape it down or something. "For right now, though," Stiles continued, "all you really need to focus on is blending in."

Right. Blending in. I could do that.

If I knew how...

Apparently, blending in started with something Lydia called "wardrobe." Since the only clothing I had to my name was already on my body, Lydia had insisted taking me shopping. Originally, Stiles had brought over some clothes that someone had donated. They kind of fit, but they smelled like the inside of the locker room. Derek had already tried washing them—twice—but I could still smell it. He'd said my sense of smell was too developed and that when I got more control, I would be able to dull it down if needed.

We'd packed the clothes back up, somewhat at a loss. Then Stiles had given me an evil look, and he had followed it with a laugh, pulling out his phone and calling Lydia. She'd showed up not fifteen minutes later, grabbing my arm and dragging me out of the loft.

If I had understood what we were going to be doing, then I might have fought it a little bit more.

As it was, Lydia took me to a couple different stores. We spent hours trying on different things. I wanted to vomit on a regular basis, but she continued to slide things along the rack, fingering certain items before either pulling them off the rack or dismissing them as "so last season."

Shopping for jeans was probably the worst. Lydia made me try on a couple dozen different pairs of jeans. They all looked the same to me, and when I said so, she called me an uncultured swine with no fashion sense and had bought six different pairs. They apparently flattered my form. When I asked her what that meant, she just tilted her head and glanced at my butt with a small smile. I made up my mind not to ask next time.

After pants, Lydia insisted that I needed to strut my stuff. She grabbed random t-shirts off the rack and held them up to me. I stood there silently, wondering how long this was going to take. "Claws, AJ," Lydia said kindly at one point, putting the shirt back and pulling off another one. I looked down at my hands. They were clenched tightly, and my claws were indeed out. Scowling, I shoved my hands into my pockets.

"This will do nicely," she finally concluded. I looked up and took the offered shirt. After I had tried it on, Lydia nodded into the mirror I was standing in front of. I kind of understood what she was going for. The shirt was soft, and it showed off the muscles of my arms and chest. I wasn't big like Derek, and I wasn't solid like Scott, but the shirt showed off the lean, toned effect of running around as a coyote for eight years. I looked good, and it made sense. If I looked strong, the other males would be less likely to try to assert dominance. So really, it would help me blend in.

I mentioned as much to Lydia, but she just shook her head and smiled that little smile again. Oh. Not for discouraging confrontation, then. At least she wasn't staring at my butt anymore.

By the time we walked back into Derek's loft, I was dead tired. All that contact with people, and the panicky, nagging feeling of being confined had gotten to me. After helping Lydia carry the shopping bags into the spare room, I collapsed face first onto the bed.

Lydia rustled around in the bags for a minute, but I wasn't paying attention. Finally, she walked over and stood by the head of the bed. I was too tired to even lift my head and talk to her, so I just waited to see what she wanted. After a second, she patted me on the shoulder. "I laid out your clothes for tomorrow. Remember, if anything is too much for you, just come and find me or Stiles or Scott. Got it?"

I groaned an affirmative at her, leaving my face buried in the pillow, and her shoes clicked quietly as she walked out. Almost vaguely, I didn't want her to leave. I couldn't put my finger on why, but that was just how I felt. A side affect to being human, I guess.

A few minutes later, Derek ghosted up to the doorway. I knew it was him from the nearly silent way he appeared and the strong, steady beat of his heart. He didn't say anything, just stood slightly outside the doorway. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Or maybe he did say something, and I just completely missed it as I was falling asleep.

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><p>Something screamed in my ear, and I clawed my eyes open, flailing a hand towards the noise. My hand sent something flying, and the horrible noise stopped. It was a clock, a damn clock. Well, pieces of a clock, now. A low, furious growl came rumbling out of my throat, and I closed my eyes again, pulling the blankets back over me.<p>

I was warm, and things were good until two commanding words broke the sleepy silence. "Get up." It was Derek, and I was not inclined to listen. I buried my face in my pillow and listened to his bare feet padding away. I didn't know how long I lay in a stupor after that, but one second I was dozing and the next I was suddenly airborne. The mattress tipped violently sideways, and I slid onto the cold floor with a crash.

"I told you to get up," Derek said calmly, as if his response was completely reasonable. He walked away again, and I scowled, prying my eyes open and rubbing my sore elbow. I hadn't even heard him walk into the room in the first place.

Nonetheless, I got to my feet and looked around. True to her word, Lydia had left a complete outfit ready for me draped across the desk chair. I stumbled over to it and pulled on the jeans. Then I shrugged out of Derek's overly large shirt and into one of my own size. It was dark gray and comfortable, and I appreciated how it didn't smell like anything.

Stiles had left me a backpack, and it had stuff in it that I would need for the day. I hadn't bothered to look, knowing I'd have to see what was there soon enough anyways. Grabbing one strap, I dragged it behind me and plodded out into the loft's main living space.

Derek was in the kitchen, standing at the stove with his back to me. "Sit," he said. I hesitated next to the couch before dropping my backpack and walking over to one of the barstools in front of the small island counter. I sat, surprised to see that there were already two plates lined up on the counter.

Derek turned away from the stove, tilting the pan in his hand and dumping approximately half of scrambled eggs onto the plate in front of me. Then he dumped the rest of the eggs onto the second plate. Forks followed, but I just stared down at the food. It wasn't until Derek started eating that I took a tentative bite.

The eggs were good, and Derek set the salt and pepper between us. I didn't use them. Beggars can't be choosers, and I was just happy to have food in the first place. It was more than I had expected. Oh. That reminded me. "Thanks," I said, trying to work on my communication.

"Eat," was all Derek said in response. Okay then.

I tried to eat as much as I could. But even then, I barely finished a quarter of the plate. When I glanced over at Derek's plate, I saw that he was already finished. I also saw that he was staring at me again. Great.

I shifted nervously on the stool, not knowing what he wanted and not liking not knowing. For a minute, he looked like he might say something, but then his face went blank, and he turned away to put his plate in the sink. "Let's go," he said finally, walking out of the kitchen with long strides.

I hopped down from the stool, letting out a sigh of relief and feeling like I had just gotten a reprieve now that he was out of the room. Silence in the forest meant something was wrong. In much the same way, silence with Derek had me totally and utterly on edge, and the fact that we were leaving definitely made it that much easier.

I scooped my backpack off the floor and followed Derek out of the loft and down to the car. We drove quietly, and by the time we got to the school, I half expected a terse "get out" from him. But surprisingly, he got out and walked all the way up to the front doors.

I slowed as we approached them, and eventually stopped, watching the milling horde of high schoolers. They all seemed busy chatting and laughing with each other.

It's said that everything in this world can be divided into predator and prey. And that…well, that's a concept I could get behind. I understood predators; I was one. I understood prey, too. They were what I hunted all those years running around as a coyote.

But right now, I was standing just outside a roiling beehive of a hundred hormonal, judgmental predators of the worst kind, and I suddenly knew how all the rabbits felt when I caught them. If Sherriff Stilinksi had told me that I would have to go to school again, I might have just stayed a coyote and left it at that.

I paused, lingering over that thought. No. As nice as it sounded in my head, I wouldn't go back. Sure, I had been free and independent and responsible for no one but myself. Sure, I had loved the feeling of running for hours through the dense forest and rolling hillsides. But that wasn't really living. That was surviving. And the moment Scott McCall had turned me back into a human, I had gotten the chance to live, to really live.

And if that turned me into the bottom of the food chain, then so be it. If anyone tried to mess with me, then I could just break a few of their bones and leave it at that.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door open, just a sliver. Sounds and smells that I had never dealt with before assaulted my senses. It was like a blast of air that just wouldn't die down. People were laughing and yelling and talking. Lockers were slamming, and weird smells were leaking out of the two inch gap between door and frame.

Panic shot through me. I was so out of place here. I couldn't do it. I couldn't spend my day surrounded by smelly, loud teenagers. I had a forest I could be in—a forest where the only sounds and smells were produced by other animals and birds. I could work with that. At least I knew my place in the forest. I took a step backward, only to run into a heavy hand placed at the small of my back.

"You're going," Derek said. His tone offered no room for argument. I wondered if I could slip around him and make a break for it.

His other hand clamped down on my shoulder, making me jump, and he leaned down, putting his mouth closer to my ear. "Don't even think about it. The school will call me if you don't show up to class. And then I will find you, and when I do, it will be very unpleasant. Do you understand?"

I nodded, feeling a cold sweat slide down my back. I was going to die, surrounding by a bunch of noisy, smelly teenagers, or I was going to be hunted and killed by the man standing behind me. I was screwed.

"Keep your head down. Don't pick fights. People will leave you alone if you just blend in," Derek said, easing back from me.

I understood that concept. When stalking prey, you blend in until the moment before the strike. So for now, I needed to work on blending in. I nodded one more time, and he let me go. Then I took a deep breath, trying to work my way up to going inside. Behind me, Derek let out a small growl, yanking the door open and shoving a hand between my shoulder blades to forcefully propel me into the school.

I came to a stop at the top step, uncertainty hitting me like a sledgehammer. I couldn't do this. I couldn't fit in.


	3. School Sucks, Running Does Not

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf. Some of Peter's conversation came directly from the show, I did not come up with the lines.

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><p>I wanted to run, but I was pretty sure Derek was waiting outside for me to do just that. Instead, I walked down a step. Then another. Then another, until I was standing level with all the moving bodies.<p>

It dawned on me—somewhere between my third and fourth panicked breath—that I legitimately did not know what I was supposed to do. I was at school, but where was I supposed to go? What classes was I supposed to be in? I didn't know.

A scent wafted up around me. It was a light, floral type smell. Familiar, because traces of it were still in the guest room at Derek's. It was Lydia's. The type of perfume she wore, maybe. She had told me to find her or Scott or Stiles if anything was too much for me, and just being here _was_ too much for me.

I inhaled deeply, sorting through the dozens of different smells for hers. When I found it again, I started moving. I might have bumped into a few people, knocking shoulders unintentionally as I locked onto Lydia. She wasn't too hard to follow. I turned left into one hallway and right when I reached the corner, and there she was, standing at her locker.

I ghosted up to her, not sure if I should say hi or just wait for her to see me. A second later, she closed her locker and jumped, seeing me and solving my dilemma altogether. "AJ," she said crossly. "It's not nice to sneak up on people." I shrugged, trying to find a way to ask for help.

"I don't know…what…to do," I told her finally.

Her eyebrows shot up, but then realization hit. "Come on, I'll take you to the guidance counselor. They'll help you figure it all out." She grabbed my arm, much in the same way as when she'd dragged me shopping, and marched me down the hall with her. People stared as we walked by, and I could some of the whispers asking who I was. Lydia seemed to like the attention, though, so I just kept my eyes to the front and tried not to let all the heavy stares bother me.

We ended up in a small reception type area. Lydia walked me up to an office door and knocked. "Come in," called a voice that I unfortunately recognized. Lydia walked in, but I stayed outside. "Lydia," the voice continued, sounding slightly surprised. "I didn't know we had an appointment scheduled."

"We don't," Lydia said abruptly, walking back out again only to drag me inside. I came to a halt in front of the guidance counselor's desk, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.

"AJ. How nice to see you again," Ms. Morrell said. She didn't sound surprised anymore, and I raised my eyes, staring her down for a long while. She wasn't the least bit intimidated. It irked me. Back at Eichen House, she had always reacted calmly to anything I'd done. It seemed today was no different. "Please, have a seat." She motioned to the chair, and I slid into it, unable to decline.

Lydia turned, preparing to go, and I had the sudden urge to grab her arm so she would stay. I didn't know why. But I kept my hands to myself, and she walked out, leaving me to gaze wistfully at the now empty doorway.

"AJ," Ms. Morrell said softly, reclaiming my attention. I turned to face her slowly. Usually our talks always started out with how my day was going, and if I was keeping myself under control. But then they always morphed to the accident, and what had happened during my eight years in the wild. I didn't like talking about that, but Morrell always seemed to get at least something out of me, no matter how hard I tried to keep it buried.

More than anything, I didn't want to deal with that today. I just wanted to blend in, and maybe find Scott.

Thankfully, she didn't want to talk. Instead, she handed me a piece of paper. "This is your schedule. Each class has the classroom number and the teacher's name by it in addition to the time it starts. Derek came by yesterday and filled out the paperwork, and I already talked to your teachers. They have been informed of your situation and will work to accommodate you as much as possible."

She leaned towards me, her face suddenly hard. "You're a very smart kid, AJ. Just because you have a lot of catching up to do, doesn't mean you can just slack off and blame it on the knowledge gap. I know you, and I know how smart you are. If you really want to learn, then you will definitely be able to succeed here. Do you understand?"

I nodded, unable to look away as she pinned me in place. Then she leaned back, and it was like the spell was broken. I looked down at my shoes, folding the paper into small, symmetrical squares. Ms. Morrell sighed. "We're trying to make this as painless as possible for you. I arranged your class schedule so that you'll at least have most of your classes with someone you already know. And if you ever need any help, academically or personally, you can always come to me."

Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen. I went into conversations with her in strict silence, and I always came out of them feeling like there was a rock in my chest instead of a heart. She had a way with words, and I didn't like it. She shouldn't be able to make me feel something I don't want to feel just by talking.

I think Ms. Morrell saw my defiance because she sighed. "I'm not the enemy here, AJ. I'm trying to help." I shrugged, folding and unfolding my schedule without meeting her eyes. She sighed again. "Well, just remember—the classes are in order on your schedule, and they have the start time, room number, and teacher right next to the name. The first few days will be rough, but as soon as you establish a routine, things will get better. You're going to be fine."

I stood, feeling like that was a dismissal, and walked out. There was a map of the school on the back of my schedule, and I glanced at it, navigating the halls with quiet unease. This place was big and noisy, and I didn't like it. But Derek would know if I didn't go, so attending class was the only option I had. Plus, Scott went to school, so the more I went, the more time I had to talk to him and figure out how to control the change.

I came to a halt just outside the first door, trying to prepare myself. People filtered past me into the classroom, but I couldn't make myself go in. I didn't want to. I was almost about to turn around and leave when Stiles' voice caught me. "AJ," he called—sounding way too cheerful to be here—as he made his way toward me. He slapped me on the shoulder and practically pushed me into the classroom, taking the choice out of my hands. "Welcome to English class," he said, sliding into a desk and motioning for me to do the same.

I did, but I never once stopped wondering how I was going to make it through the day. The bell rang, and the teacher stood up from his desk. "Good morning, class," he said. "As promised, today we will be working on our personal essays. More importantly, how to write one without sounding like an illiterate idiot." Most of the class let out a quiet chuckle, but I just stared. What had my life come to?

Despite my initial misgivings, English was easy. I could read and I could write. It made sense to me. It took certain things to make a sentence. A noun, a verb, and other stuff. If you didn't have all the parts, then it wasn't a sentence—easy as that. The class passed pretty quickly, and I didn't feel the need to break someone's face when it was over.

Chemistry was a bit harder. There were so many words and phrases that I didn't know. We got to mix chemicals together, though, and then they turned into foam and shot out of our beakers. That part was kind of fun. My lab partner, a guy named Jared, kept threatening to vomit the whole time, so I got to do most of the mixing. I could smell both the chemicals before the reaction, and then afterwards, their smell was gone, replaced by a single new smell. So that kind of helped when the teacher tried to explain about reactants and products.

Next was History, and it was insanely boring. We had to read about the things dead people did. Oh look, this guy conquered the Roman Empire. Well, this guy told them all that the world was round. These people got burned because these other people thought they were witches. These people threw tea in the water because they didn't like paying taxes. It was all extremely boring, and I knew nothing about any of it. The teacher gave me a pre-test, just to see where I was at. I got most of the questions wrong, but he just smiled at me. "Well, we have a lot of room for improvement, then," was his only response. He was nice, but I still thought his class was terrible.

The worst, though, was probably math class. The teacher went on and on about numbers that were apparently not even real. I didn't understand any of it, and the notes we were taking looked like they had come right out of the ancient Greece section of my history book. At least that book had battles and stuff. Lydia was in my class, though. She didn't pay much attention either, just took the notes, and worked quietly through the textbook. I tried to stay focused, but it was like the teacher was speaking another language entirely. Eventually, I went cross-eyed, trying to figure all the numbers out, and I just resorted to copying the notes. Maybe Lydia could explain what it all meant later.

Then, of course, was the class that was actually _in_ another language. Beginning Spanish. The teacher there was very cheerful, but I understood nothing she said. She gave me yet another textbook and patted me on the arm. "Buena suerte," she said, smiling. That was supposed to mean something, but I didn't know what. I tried to smile, but it didn't work, and I left that classroom wondering if maybe skipping school would be worth facing Derek's wrath.

I decided the risk was worth it and was headed towards the main doors when suddenly I was flanked by Scott and Stiles. Scott was on my left and Stiles on my right. Stiles flung an arm over my shoulder, trapping me, and together they steered me away from the door and towards the one place I had been avoiding so far. The cafeteria.

It was noisy beyond compare, and there were so many different smells that it was overwhelming. Stiles slid in a seat at one of the tables, and Lydia sat beside him. Scott dumped his backpack on the table, and another girl came and sat on my other side. She offered me a nice smile. "I'm Kira," she said. "You probably have my dad as your history teacher." I remembered what Stiles said about being too serious all the time, and I practiced smiling again. It must have worked, because Kira widened her smile for a second before turning to talk to Lydia. As soon as she turned away, I dropped my smile and buried my head in my arms.

Stiles gripped my shoulder tightly, squeezing it with his usual overly-energetic excitement. "So, how was the first half of your day?" I lifted my head a little and looked at him. He must have picked up on the cold panic that made my stomach turn, because he grinned. "That good, huh?" I looked down at his hand, still on my shoulder. I didn't like being touched, yet everyone here seemed to do it a lot. Stiles pulled his hand away quickly, looking a little wary.

Then he shrugged, seemingly not offended. "Hey, don't worry about it, man. If you ever need help, Lydia and I can explain things for you. Or there are tutors you can get. School isn't that bad, trust me. What classes do you have after lunch?"

His words came exploding out of him, non-stop. I don't think he even took a breath. He tapped his fingers against the table, and I began to wonder if he had problems paying attention for long periods of time. Then I remembered he'd asked me a question.

I pulled my schedule out of my pocket. I had looked at it a million times already, obsessing over getting to the right classroom at the right time. I didn't want to be the one person who had no idea where he was going. That was not blending in. "Uh," I cleared my throat. I hadn't done much talking today, which is how I liked it anyway. "Uh, I have, um, eco-nomy." I stumbled over the word, not knowing how it was pronounced. My ears turned red, but Stiles just nodded along thoughtfully.

"Economy," he said absently, not like he was correcting me. More like he was confirming it.

"Yeah, that, and I have physical education." I didn't know what that meant, but I hoped it meant doing something other than sitting.

"Oh, P.E. Yeah, you'll like that one. Coach is making us run today." He pulled a wry face, but I sat up straighter. Run. I could run. Stiles' eyes snapped back around, settling on me quickly. "But you have to blend in, remember? Scott's an alpha, but even he had a hard time keeping up with you. You can't be too good. When you finish, make sure you can at least see the other runners behind you."

I nodded. Blending in. Okay. I could do that.

The others all chatted as they ate. I just sat quietly because I wasn't hungry, and it that was probably a good thing, since most of the cafeteria food smelled repulsive. When the time came to leave, Scott and Stiles walked with me to the next class.

Economy felt like someone was pulling my head open and stuffing mush inside. I got that the general gist was money and how people spent it, but beyond that, my brain refused to operate. Everyone called the teacher "Coach," and he paced around the classroom. Sometimes he came and stood by my desk, as if his proximity would help him force-feed me knowledge. I made fists under the desk, envisioning many different scenarios where I could beat the crap out of someone or something.

I might have followed through, but that wouldn't have been blending in, and I got the sense that physical confrontation was highly frowned upon at school. So I made do by making fists and slowly releasing them, just like Ms. Morrell had taught me.

The only consolation during Economy was that it ended, and I couldn't have been happier to leave the classroom and head to physical education. Stiles showed me the locker room where everyone changed, and I slipped into some shorts, following everyone else as they dragged themselves outside. Coach met us out by a wide, winding dirt path, holding a clipboard and a whistle.

"Three times around the loop. You know the drill," he called. There was a collective groan, and the herd shambled forward as the whistle blew. Kira was in this class, and unlike so many of the others, she took off at a brisk pace. I caught up to her, running even with her since I didn't know where I was going. She gave me a small grin, and we headed down the path.

I ran with her for the entire loop. We passed Coach, and he glanced at a timer held in his hand before marking something on the clipboard.

I inhaled deeply, taking in the heavy scents of freshly cut grass and impending rain. My footsteps ate through the distance, and my muscles were warm, ready for more. I was in the zone. I didn't even notice when I sped up, but a minute later, I became aware of Kira struggling to keep up.

I didn't care, though, and I took off, leaving her behind. Scents filled my nose as I ran, and the breath slid easily in and out of my chest. I loved the feeling of being free. Man, I loved running.

When I passed Coach again, he looked at his timer then did a double take. I kept running, feeling more at ease than I had the entire day. It wasn't until Coach came back into view for a third time that I remembered Stiles warning about blending in. Skidding to a stop, I milled around uselessly, waiting for the other runners. I stretched a little, fighting the urge to get moving again.

A minute passed, and then another. Finally after what seemed like ages, Kira came into view, arms and legs pistoning, breathing hard. I waited for her to get closer then fell in beside her again. We ran past Coach at the same time before slowing to a walk. Kira braced her arms on her sides, shaking her head at me, and I tried to look as innocent as possible.

"Tate," Coach bellowed. "Get over here." My eyes widened, and Kira reached over, patting me on the arm. I approached Coach with caution, not sure what he wanted. He studied me, and I tried to make it look like I had actually worked hard to run as fast as I had. Finally Coach shook his head. "You may not look like much, but boy can you move. Have you thought about trying out for cross country?"

I didn't know what that was, and he must have taken my blank look as a negative. "Come talk to me after class," he asserted. I nodded and escaped back to Kira. She walked with me to the entrance of the guys' locker room.

"Good job today," she said. "I saw how frustrated you were a couple times, and you didn't even hit anyone." I stared at her for a second, wondering where she'd got the impression that I needed to hit things when I felt like things were spinning out of control around me. Stiles, probably. Never mind that it was true.

Not having a response, I just shrugged. She turned and jogged off, and I went to go change again. Coach wasn't inside when I finished, and I figured it would be a while considering how slowly my classmates had been dragging at the start of the run. So I left, disregarding his instructions to come talk to him after class.

Most of the people weren't out of class yet, so the school was mostly empty as I walked to the front door. I blew out of them without a second thought, utterly content to leave this place behind and never come back.

I drew up short upon reaching the parking lot, realizing I didn't know how I was getting home. Then I snorted, laughing at my sudden dependency on others. People had been telling me what to do all day, so much so that it had drained me of all independent thought. Screw them—I could just as easily walk home.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I picked the general direction that Derek's loft was in and started walking. It was nice. No classes, no teachers, no loud high schoolers. It was just me, walking quietly by myself. The near-silence—compared to the noise level of the high school—was bliss, and I reveled in it, not minding that I had a long walk ahead of myself.

A little while later, something started ringing in my backpack, and I pulled it off, startled by the sudden noise. After digging around the bottom of the bag, I found the source of the racket. It was a cell phone, but much fancier than I had ever seen. Incoming Call, the screen informed me. A picture of Stiles stared back at me, and I followed the directions, swiping to accept the call.

"AJ, where'd you go, dude? I was going to give you a ride home," Stiles yelled above the loud buzz of the background noise.

I held the phone against my ear, not quite sure if I was doing it right. "I'm walking," I told him. "I don't need a ride." Then I pulled the phone away and pushed the "end call" button, figuring that was all he really needed to know.

He didn't call again, so I was probably right, and I finished my walk in peace.

Upon reaching the loft, I climbed the stairs and opened the big metal door. Derek wasn't home, and I dumped my backpack by the couch and went to go change into shorts. Running today had triggered something in me. Something I'd been missing since the Eichen House. They hadn't let us run. And I needed to run. Needed it like I needed breathing.

I was just headed out again when I caught a weird scent. It wasn't new, I'd smelled traces of it in the loft before, but it was particularly strong today.

"So, what, you're taking in strays again?" a low, smooth voice called from up above. There were footsteps, and my eyes slid to the winding metal staircase on the left. A man walked down them slowly, and he came to an abrupt stop when he saw me. "You're not Derek," he said with a slow smile. I didn't like that smile. It made something inside me want to shrink away in unease. And his eyes were calculating, like he was measuring me. It made me…wary.

"AJ," I offered, saying my name just to break the heavy silence.

If that was news to him, he didn't show it, just tipped his head to the side and studied me. "Beautiful eyes," he said after a weird pause. "Did you get them from your father?"

I was confused for a second. What kind of question was that? Why was he asking about my eyes? "Mother," I said warily, feeling like this conversation was somehow way off.

"Interesting," he said, trailing off as he took a step towards me. I took a step back, and for some reason I don't think he liked that. His eyes narrowed, but then he relaxed. "I'm looking for my nephew, Derek."

"What do you want, Peter?" Derek asked, sliding the door open. Good, he was home. Let him deal with Peter.

Derek didn't look happy as I backed away and practically fled out the door, but then again, I think that was his face's default setting. Besides, he had to deal with Peter. He didn't have time to be deal with me now.

As I pounded down the stairs happily, I thought about what had just happened. It had been weird, and there was something that made me uneasy around Peter. I didn't know what, but it was definitely there. I'd heard Stiles mention him once, and he'd had nothing good to say of the man.

But it didn't matter. Because I was going running now, and the best thing about running was that it cleared my mind like nothing else. And after all the random information I'd had thrown at me today, I wanted to just make it go away.

Reaching the last step on the stairs, I hopped down onto the pavement. Then taking one last glance back towards the loft, I took a deep breath and started running.


	4. Graveyard Shift

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or its characters.

A/N: Please review! I love hearing people's thoughts and getting constructive feedback! :)

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><p>I ran. I didn't know where I was going. I just ran.<p>

The sun sank lower in the sky, and I left the roads to run in the woods. The loam was soft against my pounding feet, and the air was purer than that of the city. My heart rate soared, playing a pretty beat in my ears. It was good, all the way up until it wasn't.

I went faster and faster, pushing the very edge of my physical ability until I was almost flying along. But I still couldn't reach the point I had as a coyote. God, I wanted to so badly. If I could just push myself a little harder…

My legs gave out, unable to match the extreme standards that I was striving for, and I crashed down onto the soft ground, skidding to a stop. Ow. That had hurt. Not as much as my seizing, cramping muscles though. I rolled onto my back, chest heaving, as I stared up at the sky through the canopy of trees.

I caught the last few rays of sunshine as they played down through the treetops and warmed my face.

I was lost. Not literally. I knew exactly where I was in relation to Derek's loft. But I felt...lost. I wanted to go home, but I didn't have one. I missed my cave. It had been small, but it had been warm and safe, and I wanted to be in it again. Just me and my quiet cave.

The breath caught in my chest, and my eyes prickled painfully. Yeesh, what was wrong with me now? Two streaks of liquid leaked from the corners of my eyes and ran down the sides of my head. I swiped them away with an angry hand. I was crying, crying over a stupid cave.

It was more than that, though. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had been hoping that if I could just push myself hard enough, I would shift into a coyote again. But I'd run as hard and as fast as I could, and it hadn't happened. And now I was stuck in this stupid world with so many things I didn't understand.

A strangled sound ripped itself from my throat, and I slammed a fist down against the ground, trying to get the physical pain to displace the weird ache in my chest. I had never felt this way as a coyote. None of these stupid feelings had even mattered. Things had been simpler then, and I missed it.

I lay on the ground—unmoving—long enough that my breath turned into billowing clouds as it exited my mouth. The darkness grew heavier, and the air around me cooled, but I didn't care. It was peaceful, other than the shivers that wracked me, and I gazed up at the stars stretching across the night sky, completely and utterly mesmerized. As a coyote, they had been nothing but a light source. As a human, they were possible the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I remembered stars, from back when I was human before, but they hadn't affected me the same way. Reaching up a hand, I played my fingers over a particularly big star. Right now, it was bright and untouchable. That's how I wanted to be. Bright, untouchable. Because maybe that would be easier than finding a way to deal with the wild turmoil that was roiling inside me.

Noises jerked me out of my ethereal contemplation. Footsteps, soft murmurs of conversation. I knew who it was, but I didn't say a word. Maybe if I was quiet, then they would just leave me alone.

Glowing blue eyes cut through the darkness, aimed right at me. "He's over there." Peter. Was that relief in his voice? I didn't care. He was joined by another shadowy figure, this one with the unmistakable light tread and steady heartbeat of Derek Hale.

It didn't take very long before they were looming over me, staring down. "Feel better now?" Derek asked, his voice lilting dangerously towards amused territory. He had to be careful, one more joke like that and I might actually be able to see past his grim facade.

Facade: an outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant or less creditable reality. I had learned that one in English class today. Which put the score at...AJ one, school three hundred and four—give or take.

I shook my head in response to Derek's question. No, I did not feel better. All I'd managed to do was make running remind me of all the things I couldn't be. Derek reached down, grabbing a handful of my shirt and pulled me upright. He planted a hand behind my shoulder and gave me a little shove. I wrapped my arms across my stomach and started my long, stumbling walk back.

"It's dangerous to be out here alone after dark," Peter said. "That was stupid and juvenile."

That sounded suspiciously like something I'd once heard Sheriff Stilinski say to Stiles, so I borrowed Stiles' response. "I'm a teenager. We're supposed to be stupid and juvenile."

Peter said nothing in response, and I really didn't care. Derek was the one I needed to worry about. He hadn't sounded mad when they'd found me, but I didn't know him that well. He could just be waiting until we got back to his loft to beat the crap out of me. Whatever. He couldn't make me feel any worse than I already did.

We were silent as we walked back to the road. My t-shirt and shorts did nothing to keep me warm, but I wasn't about to say anything. Derek's SUV was parked in a pull-off. I opened the door and climbed into the backseat without being told, huddling against the seat as if that would warm me up. Derek got in the driver seat, and Peter hopped in the passenger side.

Derek peeled off his jacket, handing it back to me without a word. I took it, slipping into the warmth gratefully. It smelled like him, but unlike the clothes Stiles had brought over, it wasn't a bad smell.

No one spoke as we drove. I remained huddled inside Derek's coat, and Peter stared out the side window. I got the feeling that things between him and Derek were tense at best. Figuring it was safest to just remain quiet, I did just that, settling my head against the back of the seat and watching the stars out the window. It was hard to focus on them, going as fast as we were, but I found that if I concentrated hard enough, they became almost crystal clear.

It was peaceful. Or at least it was until headlights came around the bend, blinding me, and then it was just like someone was shoving a knife into my eyeballs. Not peaceful at all. I let out a pained gasp, unable to stop myself, and threw a hand over my eyes.

Strong fingers pried my hand away from my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to look away, thinking the light was going to hurt again. The same fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look straight. Finally, realizing there was no longer light beyond my eyelids, I opened my eyes.

Peter held my chin, his eyebrows raised. "Well, look at that. Coyote blue." I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, and stopped. My eyes. They were glowing a bright, shining blue.

The face staring back at me didn't seem like mine. My cheekbones looked dangerously sharp, defined by shadows and light. My mouth was pulled into a tight frown, and my eyes blazed. I looked...predatory.

I pulled my chin free of Peter, choosing instead to stare out the window. The blue in my eyes faded, and with it, the clarity of the stars decreased as well. That must have been what had triggered the increased sensitivity. I'd been focused on seeing the stars clearly, so I had. Simple as that. Increasing my vision for a few minutes was a far cry from turning into to a coyote, but it was something.

It was something, and that made it seem like everything wasn't quite as hopeless as it had seemed earlier.

Back at Derek's place, Peter got out and left in his own car. Derek and I walked up every single stair to his loft, and it was torture. Every single muscle in my body hurt. I figured I would heal—always had before—but clearly it was taking its own sweet time.

Derek pulled open the door, and we walked into the loft. I hesitated in the living room, seeing my backpack still where I dumped it by the couch. Shifting from foot to foot, I nervously waited for Derek to mete out judgement.

He pulled off his shirt with a groan, and walked toward the kitchen. Then, as if remembering I was there, he cast a glance over his shoulder. "Go to bed, AJ," he said tiredly, and that was it. I scooped up my backpack and hustled to the guest room, before he could change his mind about being mad.

Once in the room, I looked between the desk and the bed. I had some schoolwork I could do. There would always be stuff to do until I was caught up. Or I could sleep, which was something—I was discovering—that I liked to do very much.

In the end, I chose sleep. I pulled off Derek's jacket and carefully draped it over the back of the desk chair. Then I took a two minute shower, just to clean off the pungent odor of sweat, and collapsed into bed. It was a very nice bed. Totally beat sleeping on the cave floor. I rolled onto my stomach and shoved my arms underneath the pillow, closing my eyes with a contented sigh.

The next thing I knew, Derek was in my room again, and he had the same terse instruction as yesterday. "Get up," he growled, padding back out of the room. Ugh, mornings. They ranked right up there with wet clothes and cafeteria food. The thought that I would have to go to school again was almost enough to make me stay in bed. But, unwilling to face another abrupt meeting with the floor, I dragged myself upright with a yawn.

Clothes came next. I pulled out another pair of jeans, ripped the tags off and grabbed a soft blue t-shirt. A shiver rocked me, and I bit my lip, looking around. Derek's jacket was gone, and Lydia hadn't gotten me anything warmer than a t-shirt. Okay, then, t-shirt it was. I pulled the clothes on quickly, rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm them up. God, I hated mornings.

Derek appeared in the doorway, no doubt ready for a repeat performance in the event that I wasn't up yet. He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching me, then walked off. I wondered if he was disappointed that he didn't get to flip my mattress today. That seemed like it would be a source of great joy to him.

My backpack caught my eye, and any vestiges of amusement faded quickly when I realized I had another long day ahead of me. As if on purpose, my phone rang, and I scowled, digging it free of the bottom of the bag yet again. If it was Stiles, I was not going to answer.

It wasn't. It was Lydia.

I swiped the screen, holding the phone close to my ear. "Lydia," I greeted her formally.

"AJ," she said back, just as formally. "Tell Derek you're coming over to my house to study today after school."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, tilting backwards so I could peek out the doorway and check if Derek was around. "I don't know," I said. "He might be mad about last night."

"Children," she said faintly, sounding exasperated. "I'm working with children." Then her voice got a little louder, and she spoke very slowly. "AJ, you've been running around in the woods as a coyote for eight years. Tell Derek that I will be helping you catch up. Especially with math."

That didn't sound quite right. "Will you be helping me catch up?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes," she replied sharply. Then after hesitating, "Well, afterwards, yes."

"Afterwards of what?" I was getting a little nervous, and I really wished she hadn't told me. Derek seemed like the type of guy who could spot a lie a mile away. Plus, after going running and making him come find me last night, I wasn't sure where Derek and I stood. "Never mind," I blurted. "I don't want to know. I'll see you at school, okay?" Then I hung up before she told me anything that would make me a liar.

I walked out of the room, and into the kitchen. Derek had breakfast ready again, and this time, he'd made some kind of green goop in a cup. I stared at it with distaste, poking the side of the glass suspiciously.

I looked over at him, and he raised an eyebrow. "It's a protein shake," he said innocently. I shook my head and pushed it away from me. I didn't care if it was ice cream in a cup, I wasn't drinking it.

Derek stood, coming over to stand behind me. I hunched forward, knowing something bad was likely to happen. Derek dropped both hands on my shoulders, holding me down on the stool. "Drink. It." He sounded a little too happy, forcing me to drink that smelly slop, and I wondered if this was his revenge for having to come find me last night.

Realizing he wasn't going to let me up until I drank it, I reached out and pulled the glass forward. Plant smells trickled up into my nostrils and it was enough to make me gag. But I lifted the glass nonetheless, taking a tentative sip. It was pretty bad, but I'd eaten worse as a coyote.

I gulped the stuff down as fast as I could, wanting the taste and scent out of my mind. The last of it slid down my throat with disgusting slowness, and I gagged again. Derek slapped me on the back when I was done and stepped away.

"I talked to Deaton yesterday," he said. "He said your stomach is probably still not used to so much food yet, which is why you don't eat very much. He also told me that if I could see your ribs, then you're borderline malnourished." I wrapped my hands across my stomach in warning. He looked faintly amused. "I've already seen you without a shirt on. You're definitely malnourished."

I scowled at him, lowering my arms. I wasn't malnourished; I was just lean. Derek seemed unaffected by my scowl, and he just shrugged. "Deaton gave me some stuff for a protein shake. It will be small enough that you can stomach it, but it has a greater variety of nutrients packed into it than most foods."

I didn't know who this Deaton guy was, but he should definitely be forced to drink that crap. See how he like it. Oh, well. What's done was done. I could handle one measly protein shake.

"Four times a week, that's what you'll have for breakfast," Derek informed me. I gagged again, thinking the world was ending. I was not drinking that stuff four times a week. Short of dumping it down my throat, Derek Hale was not going to be able to make me.

He saw my mutinous glare and shook his head grimly. "It's not up for discussion. You will drink it. And then...well, you can choose what you want for breakfast on the fifth day. Deal?"

I glowered at him and finally nodded. That was as good as it was going to get. Choosing breakfast one day a week? I could handle that. Plus, he could kick me out at any time. So anything was better than having to figure out my next move by myself.

Derek nodded, and then we left for school. On the way there, I told him that Lydia wanted to help me math. He looked at me, pinning me in place for a long second before nodding.

I didn't nearly need as much pushing to get myself inside. As soon as I walked through the door, I made a beeline for Lydia's locker. She wasn't there, so I followed her scent. She was studying in the library.

I slid into a chair across from her, but she didn't look up. I sat quietly, not feeling the need to talk. Actually, in a rare fit of motivation, I pulled out my history book and started skimming through it. That seemed like the class with the biggest amount of raw information that I didn't know. Plus, most of it was straight forward, and if I didn't understand something, there were boxes outside the text that explained certain concepts or words.

The day progressed much like yesterday, only without the added stress of not knowing where I was going. Oh, yes. This time I knew where I was supposed to be, and the struggle was mostly to force myself to get there.

Actually, English was pretty good. Chemistry was decidedly not awful. History was better, because I had read the section we were covering and was able to follow along a little bit. Math came and went, leaving me completely lost again. Spanish was the same as math; I didn't understand what was being said, so the class dragged on forever.

Then there was lunch. Like before, I sat with Stiles and Scott and Kira. They were nice, and mostly just talked about random things. It wasn't until Lydia showed up that things turned serious. She sat down, looking a little dazed. "Someone's going to die," she stated matter-of-factly. "I don't know who, and I don't know how. But they are going to die."

Scott twisted in his seat, concern filling his face as he glanced around at the busy cafeteria. "Someone here?" he asked quietly.

Lydia shook her head. "I don't think so. All I keep hearing is a faint scraping sound. Almost like digging."

Stiles sat up, going completely still. "My dad got a call last night. The Beacon Hills Cemetery has had three grave disturbances. At first they thought it was some kind of animal, but…"

Lydia looked a little sick. "Digging," she said faintly. "Okay. After school we're going to check out the cemetery." She turned to me. "You're coming." I shrugged. I wasn't arguing.

All too soon, the bell rang. I had to fight the urge not to rip the closest speaker out of the wall. Stiles led the way to economics, and I once again sat through the most confusing class ever.

Gym class was pretty fun, though. We played dodgeball, which was basically a game about not getting hit while hitting other people with squishy balls. Kira and I were on the same team, and we absolutely killed—or so Kira said. I didn't understand, because we hadn't actually killed anyone. Although, a couple guys on the other team were kind of wobbling around. I may have gotten a little too into hurling things at them. The excited way Kira said it made me wonder if that was a figure of speech, which was something Stiles was working with me on. We hadn't gotten to that one yet. Killed it. That was a funny one.

At the end, I evaded Coach's searching gaze and made a beeline for the locker room. Changing before he could come in, I left as quickly as possible, just wanting to find Lydia.

She was at her locker. "Hold this?" she asked, handing me her giant math textbook. It was different from mine even though we were in the same class. "Independent study," she explained, noticing my curious glance. "I take a test at the end of the year and get college credit for an advanced level of math." I raised my eyebrows. She must be really smart, then. I could barely handle being spoon-fed math, and she was basically working on her own.

Lydia finished putting things in and out of her locker. She slammed it shut and turned, walking down the hallway. I carried her book, not sure if I should give it back or not. Why was I carrying it in the first place? It wasn't mine.

I was still thinking about it when we reached a blue car. Lydia unlocked it with a click of a small remote, and I climbed in the passenger side. She got in and turned the car on. Then she checked her hair in the mirror, put on some lip gloss, and fiddled with the radio. I think it was a solid three minutes before she actually started driving. Yeesh.

The music coming out of the radio was slow and obnoxious, and I didn't like it. "What is this?" I finally asked, unable to take much more.

Lydia looked over at me, surprised. "This is jazz. Wind and brass instruments? You've never heard jazz music before? It's very calming."

I gave a noncommittal grunt. I didn't feel calm. I felt like I wanted to smash a fist into the radio until the cacophony stopped. Maybe picking up on my annoyance, Lydia changed the station. What came out of the speakers next had a fast beat and a good rhythm. I nodded my head along with the music, and Lydia smiled. "Coyote Boy likes a pop music. Who would have guessed?"

I should have been insulted by her calling me "Coyote Boy," but it didn't bug me. It was different with her, but I didn't know why.

We pulled up at the cemetery before the song ended, and I looked out over the rolling hill full of grey stones. Getting out, I took a deep breath of fresh air. I really shouldn't have.

I sneezed, almost uncontrollably, as the heavy scent of fertilizer flooded my nostrils. Fertilizer, freshly cut grass, faint whiffs of flowers. Jeez, this place stunk. "What's wrong with you?" Lydia asked, coming around to my side of the car.

I looked at her through watering eyes and covered my nose with a sleeve. "Stinks," I said, muffled by my arm.

"A hundred decomposing corpses will do that," she said simply, starting up the clean gravel path.

Corpses? Oh. Buried bodies. Right. I remembered something about that. People buried their dead. I hadn't understood why back when I was younger, and I still didn't now. It just didn't seem very advantageous. All they did was rot in a box. But there were obviously reasons, otherwise people wouldn't do it. And far be it for me to judge. I had no one left to bury except maybe Henry when he died. Even then, it wouldn't be up to me, most likely, should the need ever arise.

I followed Lydia up the path, trying to put the odd combination of smells out of my mind. Stiles' jeep pulled up behind Lydia's car, and he and Scott got out. They caught up to me easily, and I could tell Scott could smell what I did. He didn't seem as bothered, though, which meant that I was being oversensitive again. I really needed to get a handle on this coyote thing.

Stiles held a piece of paper with three red circles on it. The grave disturbances, I guessed. I was right. We made our way to the first red circle's location, and there was a headstone with a largely unearthed grave in front of it. The smell of fertilizer was even stronger here, and with it came the stench of something else. "You smell that?" I asked Scott, not sure if it was just my nose going into overdrive.

He nodded. "It smells like rotting flesh."

Stiles shook his head. "That can't be right. The headstone says this person died at least sixty years ago."

"The normal rate of decomposition in a casket is around fifty years," Lydia volunteered. "There should be little to no smell of rotting flesh at this time." Scott, Stiles, and I stared at her. "What?" she demanded, shrugging. "I read it somewhere."

"Well, if it's not the body that stinks, then what does?" Scott asked slowly.

None of us had the answer, so we went to find the other two graves. Just like the first, they were both unearthed, and both of them had the same stink. We stood around the third grave for a minute, contemplating what could have dug up a grave like that, and what could have left that kind of smell. Stiles took pictures on his phone for "further reference if needed."

I shrugged, not really caring and just wanting to get away from the horrible smell. My phone rang and I fished it from my pocket, seeing that it was Derek calling. "Derek," I said quietly, informing the others. They fell quiet, and Lydia took the phone from me, doing something before holding it between all of us. "AJ," I said, not sure how else to start the conversation.

"Where are you?" Derek asked. I crinkled my nose, not wanting to lie because he'd be able to tell.

"With Lydia," I said evenly. There, that wasn't lying.

"With Lydia in the cemetery?" he asked, just as evenly.

I flinched, knowing we were caught. Stiles looked around then elbowed me, indicating with his head to look off behind us on the right. Sure enough, there was Derek. He wasn't alone, either. There was a man—tall and grim—standing by his side. Neither of them looked very happy to see us.

"Argent and Derek," Scott said under his breath. I had never met Argent, but suddenly everyone around me was uneasy. I didn't think it was specifically Argent or Derek making them uneasy, so maybe it was that particular combination.

"And they're coming this way," Stiles muttered, running a nervous hand against the back of his head. "Awesome. That's just awesome."


	5. The Smelly Hunchback

Disclaimer: I do not own any Teen Wolf characters. Sigh.

A/N: I apologize most profoundly for the atrocious update time. I had a wicked case of writer's block, and it felt like my brain was completely empty. I'm back, though, next update should come in a few days. Thanks for reading!

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><p>Derek wasn't happy. That much was abundantly clear, which kind of worried me. I had yet to see him happy, though, so that didn't exactly tell me much. I didn't remember even seeing him laugh or smile once in the few days I'd been with him. Actually, I was pretty sure he'd been weirdly cheerful when he forced me to drink the protein shake.<p>

Still, as he and Argent walked in slow, deliberate steps up to us, I tried to ascertain just how not happy Derek was. Upon reaching our group, he fixed me with a dark look that even I could understand. _We'll talk about this later_, promised his steady gaze and the flat line of his mouth.

The other man didn't look very happy either. I avoided eye contact, thinking it best to just bypass any type of communication or signs of interest altogether. He sighed. I'd noticed that this particular group—chiefly Scott, Stiles, and myself—seemed to garner a lot of sighs. "Why does it not surprise me that you three are here?" His voice was low and rough, and it was mostly directed towards Scott, Lydia, and Stiles. But his next words made me think that he knew them well enough to know the validity of their presence. "Did you find anything?"

Scott stepped forward slightly, opening his mouth.

A breeze whispered across the hillside, bringing a full, fresh stench of rotting flesh to my nose. I had learned early on as a coyote that eating dead animals was totally viable option given the lack of live prey. Yet, even young as I was, I had been instinctively able to identify sickness and disease in animals, dead or alive. There was a distinctive sickly sweet tinge on top of usual scents of decomposition.

The rotten stench carried on the breeze not only had the same sickly sweetness as diseased carrion, but was strong enough that I felt like someone had physically hit me. I bent double, feeling light headed, and my stomach roiled dangerously. Pressing a sleeve over my nose, I tried to fight the weird, thick feeling of something creeping up my throat, but I couldn't. My stomach gave a sharp twist and heaved, and suddenly liquid came burning up my throat and out my mouth.

Wait, I knew this one. I was...vomiting. That's what Henry had called it. I'd done it a couple of times right after eating. Only for my first few meals, though. Then I had adjusted just fine. Still, I didn't know smells could make me do that.

Lydia put a hand on my back, and for some reason, I was shaking, even though I wasn't cold. My eyes watered horribly, and my stomach gave another lurch, but this time nothing came out. I just gagged uselessly.

Lydia's hand left my back, and she dug around in her purse. A second later, she gently pulled my face upwards and smeared something just under my nose. I recoiled at the touch, staggering sideways to get away, but almost instantly the scent of peppermint flooded my nose and brain.

The sick, twisty feeling in my stomach faded, and I straightened shakily. Derek looked a little uncomfortable, and Scott was even covering his nose a little. They smelled it then, just not as much as me. "The scent is stronger over here," Scott noted, slightly muffled behind his sleeve.

"That's because whatever is making it is back," I croaked. The stench wasn't old, like the one I'd smelled before. It was fresh, and it was strong. Whatever was giving off the wretched smell was back, and it was nearby. The breeze was coming from the east, so I turned to face that direction, unable to do much more than that before feeling like I was going to fall over. The peppermint was cutting through the stench, but it was also making me completely lightheaded.

A huge, silver pistol appeared in Argent's hand, and he and Derek took off running. They understood just as I did where the breeze, and therefore the smell, was coming from. Because they were hunters. I scrubbed whatever Lydia had smeared under my nose off with the back of my hand. I was a hunter too. And I wanted to _hunt_.

Scott must have felt it too, because he took two running steps after them before skidding to a halt. He looked at Argent's and Derek's disappearing forms, and then he looked back at Stiles and Lydia. They were wearing kind of bewildered expressions, and I wondered if they could even smelled what we did. No, otherwise they wouldn't be so calm. The stench was playing havoc on my instincts, and I simultaneously wanted to tear something apart and flee to my cave.

In the end, Scott jogged back, apparently overcoming his desire to join the hunt. I shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, not really sure how, because I was about two seconds from running.

"You should go back to the cars, get out of here," Scott told Stiles and Lydia.

"What about you?" Lydia demanded.

Scott's eyes flared red, and he cast a speculative glance over at me. "We'll be fine."

I thought Lydia was going to argue more, but suddenly her pulse started racing. She turned and started walking with Stiles back towards the cars. I saw the shoes she was wearing and thought it rather impressive how easily she kept pace with Stiles' long strides. Scott and I followed, relaxing slightly when the scent faded the closer to the cars we got.

Suddenly, I was glad that I hadn't automatically run off after Derek and Argent. Because, as I walked by Scott, I realized that this was the first chance I'd had to talk to him outside of school.

When I'd first started going to school, the only reason was so I could talk to Scott. But somehow being at school twisted my head around in so many directions that I could never muster the time nor the approach to ask Scott about my problem. But now, as I jogged beside him, sweeping the area uneasily with my eyes, I had ample opportunity.

Of course, as soon as I made the decision to talk, I had no idea what I was going to say. "Derek says the full moon is only a couple of days away," I finally forced out, as it was the first thing that came to mind.

Scott's face never changed. He still looked thoughtful and tired, and I had the feeling that he knew exactly when the full moon was. He threw another glance my way, but I couldn't read it this time. "Derek will help you," he assured me. "He'll make sure you don't hurt anyone."

I kept pace with him quietly. Yes, I already knew that Derek would help me. Help me whether I wanted it or not, probably. What I _wanted_ was Scott's help. I wanted him to tell me how to control the change. "That night...what you did..." I came to a stop, frustrated at how all the words seemed to disappear from my brain at the moment I needed them most.

Scott stopped as well, turning to face me. "The night you changed back," he prompted patiently.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "You did this to me." I tried to articulate, gesturing at myself. "Can't you just undo it? Or...or teach me to undo it?"

He looked a little lost, running a hand through his hair even as his face melted into bewilderment. "AJ, I roared at you. I channeled everything I had into it, and even then, I didn't know if it would work. When I roared, it appealed to the human part of you. My alpha roar didn't change you back. _You _changed you back."

I stared at him, anger rising up inside me like an ugly darkness. No. He had done this to me. I would have chosen to stay a coyote. He had forced me turn back into a human. My fist balled up, and I wanted to smash it into his face, but no, that would not get me what I wanted.

So I buried the anger and tried again. "Can you teach me how to control it? I want to be able to be in control, so I won't hurt anyone." That was a lie. I wasn't totally concerned about hurting people. But Scott was. And if Scott was, then maybe he would help me. _Find common ground_, Miss Morrell had told me at Eichen House. _Find similarities between yourself and others, and it will help you establish lasting relationships._

Not hurting people could be common ground. Even if I didn't care at this particular moment, then maybe I would learn to. And really, that didn't seem like a terrible thing to learn. Compared to math, it seemed downright exciting.

Scott was still looking at me with his brown eyes. They seemed sad. "Yeah," he said softly, in a way that I didn't totally get. "I can help you learn control. Meet at Stiles' house tonight?"

"Yes," I said automatically, thrilled that my plan had worked. Then I thought about Derek. Would he let me go to Stiles' house? I narrowed my eyes. He wasn't the boss of me. I didn't need his permission to go. Besides, I would go anyway, even if he told me not to.

I glanced up ahead, frowning when I realized that Stiles and Lydia were no longer in view. Something prickled along the back of my neck, and I forgot about Scott, feeling like something was definitely wrong.

In the distance, there was a roar. It was long and angry. Derek—he was roaring as a challenge to something, someone. Scott drew up short, but I ignored him, suddenly feeling the need to get Lydia back in my sights.

I took off running, not caring which way Scott chose to go. Turns out, I do have instincts.

Cresting the hill, a low growl burst from my throat. I didn't even know why. A couple seconds later, I understood why just fine.

The smell was back, but it was different this time. Not as sickly sweet, not as full-bodied of a rot. Different smell, different source.

My feet churned steadily against the ground as the gate we had parked by came into view. Fear made me fast and strong, pumping adrenaline through my veins. I wasn't scared, but then maybe the fear wasn't for myself. I didn't spend a long time thinking about it, because the moment the cars came into view, I knew something was very, very wrong.

The stench got worse and worse the closer I got, but I didn't care. I could see Lydia and Stiles walking quickly along the gravel path. I cut across the hillside, knowing I could intercept them before they reached the cars if I vaulted over headstones and dodged the occasional bush of flowers.

I was right.

Lydia was just slowing her gait and digging around in her purse for the keys, when something burst out from behind the Jeep. It looked human...mostly. Its skin was gray and dull, and it looked grotesquely stretched over the thing's bizarre, hunched frame. I didn't care what it looked like, though. I just cared what it was after.

As it barrelled towards Lydia and Stiles, they stood momentarily frozen. Then Stiles grabbed Lydia's hand, dragging her out of the way and behind him, but it did no good. Whatever the Thing was, it just altered its course, maybe not caring which person it attacked first.

I didn't give it the chance.

As it moved in a weird skitter towards Stiles and Lydia, I blindsided it, tackling it with enough force to carry it sideways and ruin its trajectory. Together, we crashed to the ground, and I was almost overwhelmed by the sheer force of the smell. But instead, I braced my knees and brought a savage right hook smashing across its jaw. Gray skin flaked off against my knuckles, and the Thing opened its mouth.

Fetid air rushed out, making me instinctively push myself backwards in an attempt to get away from the foul odor. Sharp yellow teeth clacked against each other loudly, and the Thing jolted upright, turning the tables as it dove towards me and slammed me down on my back.

Its head dipped in past my left forearm and jagged teeth closed over the muscle of my shoulder and neck, tearing into the skin with ease. Then as quickly as it had bitten me, it let go, blasting me in the face with noxious fumes and spitting out a mouthful my own blood down onto my face. I let out a snarl, unable to stop myself, and channeled the pain into raw power as I shoved it off me.

It was thrown a few feet away and came to a bouncing, rolling stop. I used the time to scramble to my feet. It popped upright again, shifting and pacing in place. Its eyes—stained the same aged yellow as its teeth—were only half focused on me. I wasn't the target.

I didn't even have to glance behind me to know that I was inconveniently parked between this thing and Stiles and Lydia. The muscle between my shoulder and my neck twinged painfully, aching. I shrugged, rolling my shoulder and pushing past the pain. Pain was good. Pain made you motivated.

The Thing feinted to the left, trying to get around me towards Lydia and Stiles. I pivoted on a foot, not moving any more than necessary. The ache turned into more of a burn, and it hurt. A lot. It was no longer a dull reminder, but a stabbing distraction. I growled again, feeling something deep inside me stir. My fingertips tingled, and I realized that I had claws now. My teeth elongated as well, and I laughed. Oh yes, I was ready.

The Thing lost its patience and skittered forward. It moved fast, but I was faster. I didn't try to stop it as it went past me this time. Instead, I let it run itself into my claws, and then I gutted it as it tried to dodge around me. Dark fluid spurted out, drenching me, but it wasn't blood exactly. I didn't pay attention to the slickness though, because the Thing kept right on going, as if I hadn't just sliced up its innards.

I spun on a foot and took two hurried steps, tackling it from behind. Stiles and Lydia darted past us as we skidded to a stop on the gravel. Good. At least they had the sense to get to the cars and get out of here.

The Thing writhed in my grasp, flinging me off with unexpected strength. I landed in a controlled slide, digging up long furrows in the loose gravel as I used one clawed hand to steady myself throughout the slide. Then I shot forward again, kicking up rocks behind me as I ran.

The thing was up on its feet before I reached it, and I realized that it would be ready for any attack I had. I tried to slow down, but my momentum had already been built, and I skidded right into its waiting hands as I failed to stop in time due to the loose gravel. It caught me easily, swinging me around in a nice circle to send me airborne back the way I'd just come.

I flew straight and true, feeling weightless for a second. Then I smashed into a windshield, and I no longer felt weightless. A blanket of pain covered me as the glass cracked around me, and I lay there, dazed. Someone screamed—the sound piercing and terrified. It broke through my haze and drew me back to reality. Lydia had screaming. Oh. I had landed on her car, then.

Some part of me warned me that I need to get up, and I eased out of the crater that had previously been the windshield. Glass crackled and tinkled as I tried my best to climb off the car. I ended up slithering down the hood and falling into a heap on the ground in front of the bumper.

I hurt. I hurt very badly. But I struggled to my feet anyways, using the car for support. My hands were slick with the dark fluid, and they slid a little on the smooth surface of Lydia's hood, but I managed to gain my feet nonetheless.

The Thing was moving forward again, and I didn't know if I was fast enough to stop it anymore. Its belly was grotesque, and I definitely saw some stuff that was not supposed to be hanging out of the gaping wounds, but that didn't slow it down.

Stiles coming after it with an aluminum bat might, though.

I snarled, keeping it's attention squarely on me, as Stiles appeared behind it. He must have run around the long way to get where he was. Regardless, he stepped up and swung, making a solid connection to the back of the Thing's head.

More liquid flew, and the gray, hunched figure staggered forward a few paces. Then it became absolutely still, save for its head, which turned as far as humanly possible to pin Stiles in place.

Stiles gripped his bat a little nervously, but he had enough common sense to start backing away. I groaned, realizing I was going to have to engage the Thing again. If the Thing killed Stiles, then Scott would be pissed. If Scott was pissed, then he wouldn't teach me how to change back, and then I'd never get anywhere with this coyote thing.

Letting out another groan, this one more for the pain. I took off towards the Thing. It didn't see me coming, which told me that between the gutting I'd done, and the blow Stiles had delivered, it was definitely hurting.

I tackled it again, slashing at its throat with all the strength I could muster. It hurt, and my muscles were tired, but I didn't stop. Dark fluid flew even as the Thing tried to bite me. I might have been in trouble, had it claws instead of blunt fists, but as it was, it just snapped its teeth and hammered away at my face and ribs with jerky motions.

Stiles' feet shuffled in the gravel nearby, and I rolled free of the writhing mess, ending up on my side as I watched the Thing's hands swing erratically around in search for me. It let out a loud sound, somewhere between a keen and a bellow. The sound carried, not unlike a howl. It was communicating, I realized, just as Stiles stepped up, hammering the Thing in the head a few times with his bat from a safe distance. Eventually, it went quiet and stopped moving.

I stopped moving as well, feeling it best to just lay perfectly still and try not to think about what hurt. In reality, the whole fight had taken less than five minutes, but it certainly didn't _feel_ like that. Not by a long shot. On the bright side, I had enough monster gunk on me that I wasn't really affected by the smell anymore.

Somebody came pounding down the hillside, and I raised my head just long enough to determine that it was Scott before promptly going still again. Not a minute later, glowing red eyes filled my vision. "You okay?" Scott said, his voice full of something I didn't quite recognize when directed at me. Concern, maybe? I smiled a very toothy, very bloody smile, and I think he got the point. The red eyes receded, and as he moved away, I relaxed again.

He and Stiles crouched over the Thing, partially obscuring it from my vision, and Stiles poked it with the bat. "What do you think it is?" Stiles said, sounding morbidly curious.

"Nothing good," Scott replied quietly. Then he stood and turned, looking back up the hill expectantly. I didn't understand why until Derek and Argent came into view. My brow wrinkled for a second, as I tried to puzzle through how Scott had known they were coming. I gave up, not really caring. I had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that the area around where the thing had bit me was now kind of numb and tingly. Hopefully that meant it was healing.

I wanted to stand up before Derek came down the hill. Otherwise this would be the second time in as many days that he'd found me lying on the ground. But really, I just couldn't motivate myself to get upright, much in the same way I hadn't been able to the night before.

When Derek came closer, I saw that his shirt had been torn a little, and the same dark fluid that covered me was splashed on part of his t-shirt near the bottom. Which meant, I supposed, that there were two, maybe more, of those things out there. I had smelled two different—very, very similar but still different—scents, so I was leaning towards just two things. _One, now,_ I congratulated myself.

Derek walked up, ignoring Stiles and Scott and the downed body. He crunched steadily across the gravel, coming to a stop upon reaching me. Then he looked at Lydia's broken windshield for a long moment and back down at me with the same steady look that was usually reserved for when I had left my wet towel or dirty clothes on the floor. I looked up at him, too tired to be cowed, and shrugged. It hurt, and I intensely regretted it, but it made Derek's eyebrows raise, and that was good enough for me.

Pulling his gaze away, Derek looked over at the body. Argent was already leaning over it, murmuring something I couldn't hear. But Derek looked like he understood just fine. Then, without even looking, he grabbed a slick handful of my shirt and pulled me up, same as last night. I wasn't quite as steady, this time, and maybe he knew that, because he kept a fistful of the material the entire way back to the car.

It seemed like forever to get there, but in reality, his SUV was parked not twenty feet behind Lydia's car. He opened the door to the backseat, and I clambered in tiredly, slumping over on the bench seat. Derek left, going back to check out the body with the others, I supposed. I didn't really care, though. The seat was comfortable, and I was tired. The pain wasn't enough to keep me awake, so I shut my eyes and let myself doze.

I couldn't sleep. Not really. Not after a fight like that. Survival instinct is tricky sometimes. I should have been bone tired, and I was, kind of. But at the same time, I was on high alert, ready for the next threat. Sleeping was out, but dozing, I could manage.

I came out of it easily when Derek climbed back into the car and shut his door. I peered forward, alarmed, because I could only see out of one eye. I brought my hand up to find out why, but Derek twisted in his seat, stopping my hand's upward motion. "It's swollen shut. Leave it alone so it can heal."

I gave him a grumpy grunt, and searched for the clock on the dash. Ugh, I had only dozed off for six or seven minutes. It felt like I was slogging through a fuzzy cloud, trying to get my thoughts in order.

"Go back to sleep," Derek commanded as he started the car. I scowled at him, peeved to do anything he ordered me to, but my one good eye eased shut anyway, regardless of my wishes.

I snapped awake again when we came to a stop. We weren't at the loft. Instead, a small, clean-looking white brick building filled my vision. I brightened, realizing I had two functional eyes again. Then I glowered, realizing that sign outside labeled the building as the "Beacon Hills Animal Clinic."

I didn't have time to argue, though, because Derek opened the door and waited for me to get out. I did, but slowly. My entire body ached. I knew it wouldn't last. My body would heal itself, just like it had with my eye, but the waiting still sucked.

After following Derek into the clinic, we were greeted by a smaller man in a white coat. He was about my height, sturdy, and he had kind eyes. He was also bald, and he had traces of a mustache matched with a solid goatee. I didn't trust him. "Derek," he said by way of greeting. "I've been expecting you." Then he turned to me. "It's very nice to meet you, AJ. My name is Doctor Deaton."


	6. Struggles and Strains

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters do not belong to me. This is purely fan fiction.

* * *

><p>I said nothing after Deaton's greeting. Deaton, that was the guy who had given Derek supplies to make my "protein shake." I stared at him, remembering the disgusting smell and taste. No wonder I didn't trust him. He didn't seem bothered by my stare, though, just motioned us deeper into the clinic.<p>

We came into a more open room. It had cabinets lining the walls, and in the center was a large metal table. There had been a table like that at Eichen House. Men in white coats had made me sit on it while they snapped on pairs of gloves to poke and prod at me with. If Deaton thought he was going to do the same, he was sadly mistaken.

Deaton reached for a slim cardboard box, pulling out some thin blue gloves. Oh, hell no. I turned to bolt, but Derek already had enough foresight to slap a hand down on my shoulder. I realized, then, that he usually did it to settle me. It was a simple, non-coercive way to encourage me to behave. But this time, I was having none of it.

I twisted in his grip, breaking free, and then I turned wildly. I was disorientated for a second, not quite sure which way I needed to go to escape, and Deaton took advantage of it by stepping to the side and blocking the direction that I had just decided was out.

Derek grabbed me again, this time by both shoulders, and it felt like my left shoulder was on fire. I snarled, whipping around and baring my teeth at him, but his eyes were already glowing in response. A heavy growl rumbled at the back of his throat, and I stopped, my energy and will to fight drained. He very slowly took his hands off my shoulders, holding them up as he took one small step back.

Deaton waited patiently, like nothing had happened. "Can you please take a seat on the table, AJ?" I scowled at him—something I was beginning to perfect—just to warn him not to try anything funny. Then I climbed slowly onto the table, trying not to let them see how much it hurt.

Deaton surveyed me calmly, making no move towards me. Then he pulled out a pair of weirdly bent scissors and took a slow, smooth step forward. My upper lip twitched, and I resisted the urge to bare my teeth at him. I was human now. I had to act like one.

But if he tried to poke me with needles, I was not above biting, I swear.

"I'm just going to cut off your shirt," Deaton said patiently, unperturbed by my wariness. I frowned, because this was a new shirt, and I liked the color of it. I glanced down and saw that it was no longer new. When I had gutted the Thing, the dark fluid had coated my shirt in a thick, congealed residue. Now it was crusty, and there was some of my blood staining it as well. It really didn't look blue anymore. Except for the right sleeve, which was miraculously clean and now being cut in two by Deaton's stupid scissors.

The top of the shirt came away easily, falling about halfway down my chest on one side and my back on the other. Then it flopped over, the remained length adhered to my skin through blood, dirt, and now-crusty Thing fluid.

Deaton stepped away, only to return a second later with small bottle held in his hand. It had a weird kind of tapered nozzle, and when he squeezed, a trickle of water came out the nozzle and ran down my chest to the shirt.

I gritted my teeth and shivered, not liking the steady trickle of cold water that he was using to loosen the crusted shirt. "Sorry," he said softly, after I shivered again. The shirt came off incrementally, revealing nothing pretty. Deaton's gentle finger traced my ribs under the guise of further loosening the shirt, but I knew what he was really thinking about.

A minute later, he glanced casually at Derek. "You have the herbs and supplies I gave you?" Derek nodded, but I rolled my eyes. Deaton was talking about the protein shake. I may have been a little ignorant from my time as a coyote, but I wasn't an idiot.

"Smells terrible," I told Deaton, just to show him I was following along.

The skin around his eyes crinkled a little, and he smiled. "I apologize. It can't be helped."

"Clearly you've never tried it," I muttered quietly. Deaton didn't hear it, but Derek's mouth twitched slightly, like he found it amusing.

"Almost got it...and there. Done." Deaton removed the last of the shirt almost like the knights removed pieces of their armor. I'd found a picture in my history book, and it came to mind when the shirt remained stiff and melded to my shape. I liked knights. They were cool. I glanced down at my torso, noting the heavy bruising. Some of it was already healed, so it was kind of a mosaic of blues and purples and yellows.

I didn't care. It would heal—was healing, really. No, what apparently worried Deaton was the bite on my shoulder. He got a soft white cloth out and cleaned the area thoroughly. By the time he was done, the cloth wasn't white anymore, and the bite burned worse than ever.

"The damage to the trapezius muscle doesn't look too bad, but some of the tissue seems borderline necrotic. What was it that bit you?" I didn't understand much of what he'd said, and I also didn't know what bit me, so I said nothing. Deaton then looked at Derek, who uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against.

"We don't know. Argent hasn't seen anything like them. They were at the cemetery, and they smell like rotting flesh." Derek seemed almost respectful when he talked to Deaton, which was something entirely new for me. Then he caught me watching, and he did that thing where he pins me in place with a single look. I think it was probably an alpha stare.

I blinked slowly at him, feeling kind of dizzy as Deaton probed the bite with a gentle finger. "Not just rotting," I said, my voice sounding kind of fuzzy in my own ears. "Sickly sweet. They smelled like disease."

Derek's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms again. _I didn't smell that_, his look challenged.

_The smell didn't make you lose your breakfast, either,_ I wanted to tell him. _Maybe my sense of smell is just better than yours, wolf._ Derek looked like he was going to murder me in my sleep, and Deaton went still at my shoulder. Had I said that out loud? I hadn't meant to.

"I'm going to try something," Deaton said in his calm, unhurried tone. He went to the cupboard and pulled out a little jar with some light yellow powder in it, then he came back over and pinched some of the powder out, sprinkling it on and into the bite.

My entire shoulder, not just the bite area, lit up on fire. I think I screamed. Derek was there in an instant, pinning me down to the table even as I thrashed wildly about. I heaved and twisted, trying to escape the mindless agony, and then it faded. Only a little at first, but then it just seemed to drain away.

The metal of the table was cool against my back, and I tried to sit up. Deaton stopped me. "Just lie still," he said quietly, almost urgently. "He's taking the worst of it, but as soon as he stops, it'll hurt again." I gazed around blearily, not understanding. One of Derek's large hands was splayed on my chest, pinning me in place. His other hand was clasping my wrist. As I watched, inky veins of darkness slithered down my wrist on up into his.

"What?" I whispered slowly, dumbfounded. I looked up at Derek, but his eyes were closed, face tight with concentration. A muscle in his cheek jerked, and droplets of sweat dotted his forehead. Then Deaton pulled another jar of powder out, and I couldn't help but whimper. _No, please, not again,_ I wanted to beg him. He looked pained, and I wondered if I'd said it out loud again. Then he tossed the powder onto the bite, and I tensed, but this time nothing happened.

"Good," Deaton murmured, more to himself than me. "You can let go now. He shouldn't feel much anymore." Derek jerked his hand free of mine, and lifted the one from my chest as well. As soon as he let go, the myriad of aches and pains flooded back in, but they were a minor distraction compared what the pain had been only a minute before.

"I've seen that kind of bite, before," Deaton explained. "But not for a very, _very_ long time. The reaction to the narcissus root confirms it. You're dealing with ghouls."

Derek looked a little lost, and I certainly had no idea if that was supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing. As it was, I wasn't too concerned. If it bled, I could kill it, which was all I really cared about.

Deaton frowned unhappily. "I regret to say that ghouls are a bit out of my normal area of expertise. You say you killed one? How?"

I blinked again. Oh. He was talking to me. Yes. I had killed one. "Gutted it. Then tore out its throat." Deaton looked a little taken aback. "Stiles hit it in the head a couple times with a metal baseball bat, too," I added helpfully, mostly as an afterthought.

"How fortuitous of him," Deaton said absently as he cast a speculative glance at the bite on my shoulder. "Ghouls are known to consume dead flesh. Something in the saliva must have a way of killing live tissue. Interesting. Very interesting."

I did not think that was interesting at all. I just wanted to go home and sleep. But I was supposed to meet Scott tonight. And I had a ton of homework, too. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as the dozen of different things I needed to do bounced around in my brain. I didn't like having so much to learn and memorize. It was overwhelming, and when I got overwhelmed, it was like I couldn't focus on anything at all.

When I opened my eyes again, I found Deaton looking at me thoughtfully. I didn't like his careful inspection of me. It reminded me of the doctors at Eichen House for a second, and I slid off the table before he could try and study me some more. I didn't like those kinds of looks—when it stopped being about me and started being about the discovery of something new. It was like I wasn't even a person anymore when they got that look, just some sort of...sort of...specimen, or something.

I moved forward a step, testing out the dizziness that had come—and apparently gone—so suddenly. "Can we go now?" I asked Derek, trying not to sound like I was pleading. I didn't like it here. There were too many smells, and they reminded me of Eichen House. The worst, perhaps, being the clinical sting of disinfectant. I hated that one. Not to mention all the delightful scents and noises of the animals in the next room. The dogs barked, and I could hear the cats hissing. Yeah, domestic pets and coyotes don't necessarily tend to get along. They didn't want me here, and I didn't want me here, either.

Derek nodded towards the door, and I slipped past him towards freedom.

It was still warm outside, and the sun beat down on me with welcome heat. I hesitated outside Derek's SUV, soaking in the daylight. Derek came out a few minutes later, and I begrudgingly gave up the warmth to climb inside the car.

We didn't really talk during the drive. I didn't mind. It was one of the things I liked about Derek. He never felt the need to fill the air with meaningless words. Stiles, on the other hand, never shut up. Though, Stiles' chatter _was_ kind of nice sometimes. It grounded me during the times when everything else was so chaotic and overwhelming. But still, I liked the quiet.

It wasn't until Derek shut off the car that he finally spoke. "I fought one of the ghouls." He frowned out the windshield thoughtfully. "It was fast, strong, and well trained. Argent shot it, but it kept coming." He paused, then he turned to look at me. "How did _you_ beat the second ghoul?"

I blinked slowly, which was quickly becoming my favorite stall tactic. What did he mean? He'd heard me tell Deaton what I'd done to kill the ghoul. Did he want to hear it again? Or maybe he was wondering something else, which would mean...

You. "How did _you_" is what he'd put the most emphasis on. Oh, well that part was easy. I knew exactly why I had won, aside from the whole self-healing part. "It was fast," I conceded with a half a shrug. "But I was faster." Then after half a beat, I continued my self-assessment. "And it didn't have claws."

Derek looked like he was carefully weighing my answer, and then he nodded. "Full moon is coming," he said after a pause. It was different this time as he said it, though. This time he was looking at me thoughtfully, not just gauging my reaction like last time. I didn't even say anything, but after a few moments, he inclined his head slightly, as if making an important decision.

I did not understand, and that frustrated me, so I wordlessly got out of the car and started the slow trek up the many stairs. My backpack dangled uselessly from one hand, bumping each step as I went up. All it did was remind me of how much crap I still had to do before tomorrow. I wanted to shred the entire thing and drop it over the railing, but something told me that would not be productive, and Derek would probably make me clean it up anyways. So I dragged the thing spitefully behind me, letting my displeasure show in my scowl.

Peter was in the living room when I finally slid the metal door open. If my shirtless, bruised appearance came as any surprise to him, he certainly didn't show it. I ignored him, my scowl unwavering as I morosely dragged my backpack to the guest room without a single word to him.

When Derek came into the loft, I heard them have a soft, yet heated conversation. As I had noticed last night, things were tense between them. Interesting. I sighed and sat down at the desk. Interesting didn't make economics homework get done any faster. Shoving the low murmurs to the back of my mind, I pulled out the textbook and started floundering through the assigned chapter.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter and Derek were still at it, and I had gained no further insight into the madness that was economics. Even though the sentences were made of simple words that I understood, when put together, the whole thing seemed to morph into some abstract concept. It was bizarre. And maddening. I made one last attempt to comprehend the paragraph I had already read four times and failed yet again. Scooping up the book with a furious exclamation, I hurled it at the wall.

It hit with a solid thump and fell to the floor in a terrific slam. Outside, Derek and Peter went quiet. I dropped my head onto the desk, hating school and teachers and economics and books. Then I pulled the phone Stiles had given me out of my backpack. It took a while, and the pressing of many random buttons, but finally I figured out how to call him. The screen went dark as I held it to my ear, and Stiles picked up after the first ring.

"What? What's wrong? Did something happen? Please tell me Derek didn't kill you for being in the cemetery today. What am I saying? If he'd killed you, then you wouldn't be able to call me. Hey, you're calling me. Wait, what do you need?"

I paused for a second, thrown off by the sudden onslaught. Then I remembered why I'd called. "Can you come over?" I asked miserably.

There was silence on the other end. "Is Derek there?" Stiles asked after a moment.

"Yes," I said, not getting why that would matter.

Another pause. Then, "Is Peter there?" He sounded a little nervous this time.

"Yes." More silence. Why did it matter? Shoot. Oh, wait, I knew this one. Smiling made people act nicer sometimes, but he couldn't see me, so I could also use…

"Please?" I said. The word felt a little funny coming out of my mouth, but not in the laughing funny kind of way. It wasn't a word I used very often.

Maybe Stiles knew that, because he sighed. "I'll be there soon. You owe me."

True to his word, Stiles showed up. When he walked in, Derek and Peter were already upstairs, looking through a bunch of books for any mention of ghouls. At least they weren't arguing anymore. Stiles hovered about in the living room, and I went back to the guest room to retrieve my economics book from the floor. As soon as he saw it, his expression went from slightly uncomfortable to completely understanding.

Twenty minutes later, he was not quite so understanding.

Stiles groaned, drumming his foot against the ground in obvious agitation. "Okay, one more time. Econ is all about supply and demand. Supply means what's available for consumers to buy. Demand is how much or how badly they want to buy it. You can't have one without the other. Do you understand?"

Did I understand? No, not in the slightest. My brain was so full of all the other crap I had to memorize that even simple economics were evading me. "Yes," I said matter-of-factly, wondering if that would make him stop talking. "I understand." The look on my face probably wasn't convincing enough, because Stiles threw his hands in the air.

Peter prowled by, and Stiles stiffened. I knew the feeling, Peter made me uneasy in a way I couldn't explain. Stiles didn't like him, and I didn't either. But Stiles had still come, because I had called him. He called it being a good friend, and I tried to remember that for the future. Being a good friend meant doing something you didn't want to do. I wondered vaguely why people wanted to be good friends in the first place if it was so much of a hassle.

Peter paused, looking like he wanted to say something. Then he kept walking. A second later, he pulled an about-face and came back. "It's excruciating listening to you, Stiles. You're like a broken record." Peter focused solely on me, drilling into me with his blue eyes.

"You were a coyote, and you were alone. That means you probably hunted smaller prey that you could take down by yourself with minimal risk of injury." He was right. I had gone after smaller prey because I couldn't afford to be injured. If injured, I wouldn't have been able to hunt. And not being able to hunt meant starving, so I had chosen my prey accordingly.

"What happened when the smaller prey ran out? What did you do then?" How he knew that, I didn't know. There had been a winter, a bad one, a few years ago. The rabbits had gone underground, and hunting had been scarce. I had been desperate enough to try taking down a deer. I'd done it, but I'd also been kicked and had broken a couple ribs. That had been my worst winter, but at least I'd survived.

"Went for a deer," I grunted, not liking talking about this topic.

"Exactly," Peter said. "Your supply ran out, so you got desperate. You were willing to do more for what little there was left. That's one of the rules of supply and demand. Basically, if your supply and demand don't match, then you have imbalance. If you have more demand—your need for food—than you have supply—the food—then you will work harder for it. If you have more supply than demand, then you will not work as hard. Get it?"

I did get it. It was the simple ebb-and-flow of hunting. I nodded, and Peter walked out of the loft without a backward glance. Beside me, Stiles shivered slightly.

He closed the econ book and handed it to me. "Scott is coming over around seven. My house. My dad is going to be gone, so we can work on your control problem." I narrowed my eyes at him, annoyed. He held up his hands with a slight grin. "Control issue. Control issue. It's more of an issue, than a problem."

I sniffed, satisfied, and stood up. Stiles stood too. He lingered, scuffing his toe on the ground. "It'll get easier. School will, I mean. And the other thing, too. Scott can help you, and I can help you."

He looked up and met my eyes for a second, his full of understanding and what was maybe pity. It made me uneasy, so I gave him a brief nod, and then it was my turn to stare down at the ground. "Okay, well, seven at my house," he said, slapping me on the shoulder before he left. I stared after him, contemplating the possibilities of Scott teaching me how to control the coyote side of me. Scott had said he didn't know how to make me turn full coyote again, but I figured the next best thing was to learn how to control the partial shift. And who knew, maybe that would lead to control of the whole turning thing.

I checked my phone. I still had an hour and a half before meeting at Stiles' house, which meant, unfortunately, that I needed to do more homework. My shoulders slumped, and I kind of wished Henry had just shot me—back when he'd been trying to kill me—and put me out of the eventual misery that school was.

Still, I slogged onwards, working through a little of each subject in the hopes that it would keep me from feeling overwhelmed. It didn't. By the time six-thirty rolled around, I felt like my brain was being pulled in so many directions that it was just going to explode. Shoving the papers and books away from myself, I stood up. Okay, well, if anyone asked, I had studied. Now on to bigger and more important things. I was going to Stiles' house, no matter what Derek said.

Derek was sitting on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table with a massive book open in his lap. He didn't even look at me when I walked by, and I hoped that was a good sign. I got all the way to the door before he said anything. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, sounding _very_ interested in my answer.

I froze, my hand on the cold, metal handle, wondering how I could be so brave in my plans yet feel so tiny when faced with the real deal. That didn't seem quite right to me. "Stiles' house," I told him nervously, scuffing the floor with the toe of my shoe.

"Are you actually going to be at Stiles' house?" he asked, a sardonic lilt to his words. Ok, I deserved that one.

"Yes," I answered promptly, to the best of my knowledge.

He mulled it over, looking down at his book. "Okay," he said finally, and that was that. I left before he could change his mind.

It took me a little over a half an hour to jog to Stiles' house. He'd texted me directions earlier, and they were confusing as heck, but the streets were labeled, and even Stiles couldn't mess that one up.

I knocked on the door, only a few minutes late, and Scott opened it. "Hey," he greeted me.

"Hey," I said, feeling like I had to at least say something back. We went up to Stiles' room.

"Hey," Stiles said, not looking up from his laptop.

I stared at him. "Hey." Geez, what was with that word?

Then he shut the lid of the laptop, spinning the chair around to face us. "Scott? You want to do your thing?"

Scott nodded, and then he turned to me. "Control is different for everyone. Derek told me that the most important thing is to hold onto what makes you human during the transformation. You have to choose an anchor, and that's what will keep you from losing it when the wolf"—he gestured to me—"or coyote side of you takes over. Then, in time, the anchor becomes less important as you get the feel of changing back and forth."

I nodded. An anchor. Okay, I could do that. I just needed to think of one. Relatively soon. Like right now. "Do you have one in mind?" Scott asked, I nodded again, even though my mind was easing towards the concept like a slug. "Okay, back when I was a beta, Peter did this thing to call me out, to draw out the wolf. I'm going to try it with you. Remember, concentrate on the thing that makes you human."

Human. Anchor. Okay, I just needed to focus.

Scott's eyes glowed red, a definite rumble in his throat.

I closed my eyes, waiting to feel something, anything. Nothing. Nothing happened. My eyes snapped open, and I scowled. "Nothing." Scott's eyes faded back to brown, and he frowned.

"Well," Stiles interjected, "there's always the other thing. We could do that."

Scott looked uncomfortable, but I jumped on the chance. "What thing?" I demanded.

"When werewolves are feeling strong emotions, like anger, it's harder to maintain control. Stiles once threw lacrosse balls at me and got me beat up so that I could feel the tipping point. The point where I wanted to lose control. That's when I found my anchor." He went quiet after that, and even I knew better than to pry when that haunted look came into his eyes.

"So…" I prompted, focused on Stiles.

He shrugged. "What makes you mad? What makes you want to tear someone's head off, but not literally."

I stared at him. Everything made me mad. School made me mad. Stupid, noisy high schoolers made me mad. Ghouls made me mad. Derek made me mad when he woke me up in the morning. Economics made me mad.

I think Stiles saw something in my face, because he grinned. "If Scott hit you right now, how mad would that make you." Very mad. That would make me very mad. Stiles' grin got even wider. "Scott, hit AJ."

Scott looked unsure. "Stiles, I don't that's the best way to—"

Stiles scrambled out of his rolley chair and came at me, smacking me across the jaw with a wild right hook. My head jerked to the right as his hit took me by surprise. Then anger flushed through me. I slowly turned my head back to Stiles, who was standing there panting. A low growl started deep in my chest, and I flexed my fingers.

Stiles brightened. "Look, you did it! Good job, dude." I bared my teeth at him, knowing my fangs were out. He lost his excitement. "Uh, Scott, buddy, I'm going to let you handle this one." I took one step towards him, flexing my fingers again, letting him hear my knuckles cracking. My eyes flared blue in the reflection of the window, and Stiles scrambled to stand behind Scott's shoulder.

"Calm down, AJ," Scott urged. But I didn't hear him. "Your Anchor. Remember your anchor." His words were like little flies, unable to make a dent in the flood of raw aggression that was coming to the surface. I had no anchor, and I wasn't interested in listening.

What I wanted was to hit something, preferably a lot.

Stiles' face would do just fine.


	7. Full Moon Tonight

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

A/N: This chapter started out as, like, two hundred words and just kind of snowballed from there. Enjoy!

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><p>Stiles.<p>

I wanted to kill him. Not literally, but in the way Kira has used the term after the game of dodgeball.

"AJ, find your anchor," Scott said, louder this time. I took another step towards them and then another.

Finally Scott's eyes flashed red. "AJ, stop!" I jerked, feeling like he'd hit me, and some of the anger drained away. His words seemed to break through the swirling barrier of simmering fury—kickstarting my brain again. I came to a halt, struggling to put a leash on the raw anger.

Not knowing what else to do, I pivoted on a foot, smashing my fist towards the wall. Scott's hand came out of nowhere, catching my arm a second before my knuckles made contact with the wallpaper. "Not," he said in a strangled voice, "a good idea."

I pulled my arm free, shaking out my hand. Stiles drummed a foot against the ground, looking thoughtful. "How'd you do it at the cemetery? One second you were you, and the next, you had claws and blue headlights." I glanced at him, confused, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Your eyes were glowing blue," he explained impatiently.

I thought about it. "It happened after the ghoul threw me into Lydia's windshield."

Scott dipped his head to the left slightly, making a gesture with his hands. "Pain triggers the healing process. And heightened emotions make the change that much easier. You probably didn't even notice the transformation."

I nodded. One second I had been hurting, and the next I'd had claws and had been the one doing the hurting.

Scott rubbed the heels of his hands against his forehead, sighing. "Look, the anchor is everything. It needs to be something that makes you _you_ when everything else goes instinctual. Do you understand?"

I understood alright, but I still had no idea what my anchor would be. Stiles groaned, at my perpetual silence, maybe, and dropped into his rolling desk chair. Then he rooted around in his desk drawer pulling out some kind of snack. It was in a clear, crinkly package, and Stiles struggled to open it. He had just gotten one side ripped open when the house door opened, and footsteps sounded up the stairs. Stiles' eyes got wide, and he turned frantically, looking for a place to stash the spongy snack.

Eventually, he grabbed my hand and stuffed the squishy tube into it. Then he turned towards the doorway, a completely new look on his face.

Sheriff Stilinski walked in a second later, faltering when he saw the three of us. "Boys," he greeted somberly, an air of caution about him.

"Hey, Daddy-o," Stiles said quickly. "We were just studying. AJ still hasn't gotten the hang of economics."

Stilinski's eyes flicked around the room before settling on the thing in my hand, and then he looked back up at me. "I see AJ's enjoying a Twinkie. I'd hate to think that it was yours, Stiles. You know what the doctors said about mixing foods that are pure sugar and your Adderall."

Stiles gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "I am completely offended by that, Dad! How could you even… Why would you think…" He shook his head gravely, looking disappointed. Sheriff Stilinski didn't look convinced, and Stiles bumped the side of my leg with his elbow. Oh. He wanted me to eat this. I stared down at it, not wanting to. But Stiles had said that being a good friend meant doing things that you didn't want to, and he _had_ been helping me out lately. So I raised the spongy tube and took a bite. It stunk like weird chemicals, but as soon as it entered my mouth, I was in rapture. Holy crap. How had I never eaten one of these before?

I polished it off in two bites, licking my fingers. Sheriff Stilinski sighed again, shaking his head. "Scott, AJ, I assume you are staying for dinner?"

Scott shook his head, saying something about take-out before his mom's shift. I didn't understand him at all, but he left. Then I shook my head as well. I didn't want to stay for dinner. I wasn't hungry. "I have to get back...to the loft," I finished lamely. I didn't have a good excuse, but then I guess I didn't need one.

Sheriff Stilinski motioned me out of Stiles' room. "You," he said, jabbing a finger in Stiles' direction, "get dinner ready. I'm going to drop AJ off, then I'll be home."

"Anything for you, Dad," Stiles called as I tromped down the stairs. This was even better than I expected. I thought I'd have to walk home, but Stilinksi was going to give me a ride. No long, cold walk for me.

Stilinski came out, and we got in the car. He turned up the heat, and I reveled in it. Not having fur was such a disadvantage sometimes. I stared out the windshield, watching the streetlights play over the shiny black hood. A few seconds later, my breathing increased. I didn't know why, but my heart also started pounding. What was wrong with me? The full moon wasn't until tomorrow night.

Oh, I had eaten a Twinkie. Maybe that was causing this.

I drummed my fingers against my knee and bounced my foot, unable to stop moving. Maybe that was why Stiles was so excitable. Twinkies. Unstoppable waves of words, twitchiness, erratic thought patterns. It explained everything.

Sheriff Stilinski didn't even look over at me when he broke the silence. "This is the last time my son is ever giving you pure sugar," he said gravely. I gave him a wide-eyed look, unable to help myself. Sugar? Is that why I was so jumpy and wild? It was like I couldn't stop moving, and I didn't like it. But I liked Twinkies, that much I had already decided.

Stilinski sighed, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. "How's it going, staying with Derek?" He looked over at me a couple times, taking a few quick breaks from watching the road.

I shrugged, then crossed my arms, then uncrossed my arms, drumming on my knees again. Through an extreme bout of willpower, I made myself go still. I owed him for getting me a place with Derek, so at the very least, I could give him an answer. "It's...good," I said, and I meant it. Staying with Derek was different than staying with Henry, and it was _very_ different than staying at Eichen House. But different in a good way.

I pursed my lips, tapping my foot against the floorboard as I stared out the window into the darkness. It _was_ good. I liked staying with Derek. With that realization came a weird sense of bitterness, though. It wasn't permanent. Sooner or later, Derek would fix the code violations, and then he would be done with me. I couldn't let myself get attached, because I would have to move on eventually.

We didn't say anything else for the duration of the ride. I climbed out at the warehouse. "Goodnight, AJ," Stilinski called. I said nothing, too jittery to remain standing still. I took the stairs, two at a time, hoping to burn off the strange, restless buzz in my brain. Bursting into the loft, I came to a grating stop. Peter and Derek were both sitting on the couch, hunched over two giant books placed side by side. They looked up simultaneously, and I stood there mutely, suddenly unable to stop shaking as my brain went completely blank.

"What's wrong with you?" Peter asked with a snort. He went back to the book, but Derek remained watching. I licked my lips slightly then darted to the guest room, unable to take his gaze.

There was something neatly folded on the foot of the bed, and I snagged it, holding it up. It was a large, gray sweatshirt with a hood. Hallelujah. I pulled it on, noting that it was smaller than Derek's size, but it still smelled faintly like him. Old, then. It was old. I didn't care, because it was also soft and warm. Dropping onto the bed, I stared up at the ceiling. My hands trembled, and my muscles wouldn't stop twitching slightly. I shook my hands out, hoping it would help. It didn't.

I wanted to jump up and run around in circles, that's how restless I was. Instead, I lay still, listening to the quiet murmurs of Derek and Peter. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was nice just to hear something other than silence right now.

Eventually, the burning rush of energy tapered off and disappeared, leaving me dull and heavy. I didn't want to move at all, which I found odd in comparison to my earlier inclinations. In fact, every muscle was slack and limp as I blinked lethargically up at the ceiling. I wasn't tired, I just felt...depleted.

"You smell like sugar," Derek said from the doorway, startling me. I would have jumped had I not been feeling so sluggish.

Sugar, sugar sugar. All they could talk about was sugar. I was beginning to think that sugar was the devil. Coach sometimes went on rants, tirading us with facts about sugar and things called carbs and calories. I never paid him much attention, because...well...he was Coach.

"Hmm," I intoned, not giving it much more than a token effort.

Derek looked annoyed. "Did Stiles give you something?" I blinked up at the ceiling again. Stiles had mentioned a bro-code during lunch yesterday. I still didn't know what it fully entailed, but I'd gathered it meant not snitching about certain things. I wondered if Twinkies fell under that category, so I said nothing, just in case.

I was still thinking about Twinkies when my eyes slid shut. Derek growled something, but I missed it, contemplating how I was going to get my hands on more cream-filled sponge cakes. A small shiver rippled through me, and I rooted blindly about with a hand, trying to pull my blankets up over me. It must have worked because, they slid out from under me and ended up on top.

I huffed, pulling them tightly around me in a cocoon as I flipped over onto my stomach. Then I buried my face in my pillow and fell asleep. I slept restlessly, waking up several times. It wasn't until the sky began to get lighter that I truly fell into a deep sleep. Except with it, came the dream.

_The lines on the road sped by, and I watched them pass with my cheek pressed against the cool window. In the front seat, my mom sang along to the radio. She kept looking back, trying to get us to sing along. My little sister giggled, yelling random words whenever she knew the lyrics. I didn't say anything, because I was still mad at Mom. I had said as much, earlier, yelling at her with so much anger that it was almost unreal. I didn't know where it came from. I was just in a bad mood today, I guess._

_The moon peeked through the clouds, round and full. I stared up at it through the glass, and then it all changed. My sister twisted in her seat, staring at me and screaming, and my mom yelled, yanking on the steering wheel. My body hurt in ways that I didn't understand. The car swerved and everything became one confusing mass of pain and darkness._

_ I was running. I had to get away. Behind me there was only pain and fear and blood_—_so much blood. I had to find somewhere safe. I tripped over branch and came crashing down, scraping my hands and knees. I started crying and picked myself up again. I wanted to run. I needed to run. So I did. My legs pumped and my heart pounded, and suddenly I was running like never before._ _I was sleek; I was fast._

_ I was a predator._

"AJ." There was a touch at my shoulder. I exploded out of my dream and out of my bed, coming up swinging with my teeth bared and a savage growl tearing out of my throat. I couldn't growl long, though. Breath sawed in and out of my chest, making control impossible. I was shaking at the wildness of it all. I wanted to run. I _needed_ to run.

Strong hands caught my wrists before my claws could do any damage, and suddenly I was faced with a pair of glowing blue eyes. "Calm. Down." The voice was commanding in a way I'd never heard before. Derek. The coyote side of me faded, but I still couldn't fully obey.

The breath rushed in and out of my chest, my heart going a million miles an hour. I couldn't stop. I was getting dizzy, and I knew I needed to calm down, but I couldn't. I physically couldn't.

Derek let go of my wrists. He opened his mouth, revealing long teeth in the dim light, and he roared. The sound washed over me in a wave, sending me into deep, mindless stillness. I stumbled backwards, the bed hitting the back of my knees, and I collapsed, all of my panic and adrenaline fading.

The silence that followed swamped in around me, suffocating me with its heaviness, and the last vestiges of the dream came floating back to me. The moon, the change. The car accident. Running. God, it was awful. I hung my head, planting my elbows on my knees and running my hands through my hair. I didn't want to remember. Not that. Not ever.

Derek lingered in front of me, maybe unsure of what to do. "You were…" he started to explain, but didn't finish the sentence.

I had been what? What? Oh. My nostrils flared at the small scent of salt water. Oh, no. Please, no. I had been crying. I could smell the tears, and I swiped at my face, feeling the damp trails. Awesome, I was reduced to crying in my sleep.

I turned away from Derek, flopping down on my side and giving him my back. I was mortified, and I didn't want his pity. I didn't want anything from him but silence and space.

He gave it to me, walking out of the room without a word.

I closed my eyes, trying to push that particular memory to the deepest, darkest part of my brain. It didn't work—instead, replaying itself again and again like a movie.

The hours dragged by. I got up, stuffing books into my backpack without much care. I was on edge—from this morning, maybe. I walked out, earlier than usual, choking down the protein shake and getting in the car with my usual silence. Derek didn't bring up this morning's incident, and I didn't either.

When I got to school, I climbed out without a word. Derek didn't stop me. I went directly to the locker room, unable to handle any of Stiles' nattering or Lydia's tutoring. I didn't have much time, but I slipped into shorts and a t-shirt anyways, hitting the track for some laps.

The running seemed to take the edge off of things, and I walked into my first class a little calmer. It didn't last. Everything passed in an irritating blur, little things needling at me constantly. It was too noisy. It was too cold. Someone was wearing a noxious cloud of something disgustingly floral. And, of course, I barely knew anything that was going on. I hadn't read all of the chapter for history, and Mr. Yakimura kept giving me disappointed glances when I couldn't answer any questions.

Even chemistry was tedious, in that we were doing an experiment using chemicals with fumes that toasted my nostrils and made me feel like I was going to vomit. But even so, I didn't really lose it until economics.

Lunch came and went. Instead of sitting with the others, I went out and ran laps again. It didn't help very much, and when I got to Econ, I was already cranky. I slouched low in my seat, ignoring Scott and Stiles. Then Coach walked in, smiling. My stomach flipped.

We had a pop quiz. It had nothing to do with soda, and I couldn't even understand what the questions were asking. Students filed out one by one as they finished. I stayed, having written nothing other than my name on the paper. Stiles passed me, giving me a pitying glance as he left, and finally, I was alone with Coach. He paced up and down the aisle. "Come on, AJ. I know you're smarter than this. You've clearly got something going on in that brain of yours, because you've managed to avoid me after gym class every day."

I wanted him to stop talking, to stop moving. My frustration welled up, and I stared down at my paper, fingers tightening around my pencil. "I want to give you a passing grade, kid. I do," he said loudly. "But you need to show me something. Anything, AJ. Just give me anything you've learned in this class. Anything at all."

My hand tightened into a fist. _Shut up, shut up!_ I wanted to yell at him. My heart pounded, and I felt like hitting something. A lot. Maybe slamming someone's face into a wall. Or maybe just slamming my fist into one. Yeah, that could work.

My pencil snapped in my hand. A piece jabbed into my palm, a little slice of pain, and for some reason that helped. The pain cut through the maddening haze that was building, and for a second, I remembered what Peter had said about hunting strategy. I dropped the jagged shards of wood onto the desk.

"Supply and demand," I said haltingly. Coach came to a stop, a hopeful look slowly replacing his agitation. "Um, if supply doesn't match demand, then there is an imbalance." Coach nodded, waving for me to continue. "And, um…" I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly feeling really hot. "If, if...the demand is higher than the supply, then people will pay more for the supply. And if the supply is higher than the demand, then people aren't as motivated to pay as much?"

Coach stared at me for a long moment, unblinking, then he slammed a hand down on my desk. "See, there is a brain up there. Good job, kid, you passed. Now get out of my classroom."

I grabbed my backpack and fled, feeling strangely like I was emitting my own personal heatwave. What was wrong with me? I stopped in the hallway, pulling off Derek's sweatshirt. It didn't help cool me down. I pushed through the throngs of walking, chatting students, and my breathing picked up, air coming in and out faster and faster. Something was very wrong here. I needed to find Scott. I pushed and jostled my way through the hall, feeling like everyone was purposefully getting in my way.

I bumped someone's shoulder, tried to course correct, and ended up running into a guy who was way bigger than me. He turned around, shoving me backwards with a large hand. "Watch where you're going, loser," he scoffed, not really paying attention to me. He was already refocusing on his friends. I blinked at him, the hot anger that I'd felt in Coach's classroom flashing back through me.

Before I knew it, my fist was rocketing towards his face. Blood spurted as my knuckles smashed into his nose. I cocked my fist back and hit him again, this time in the eye. My hand hurt, only a little though, and it was the good kind of hurt. I liked it. My fist flashed back a third time, but by then something was very wrong.

People were yelling and milling. Coach rushed forward, trying to pull me away from the guy. I fought his grip easily, not yet ready to relinquish my prey. I wanted to keep hitting the guy, when suddenly I heard the same steady roar from the night in the hills. "AJ," the alpha yelled. It was long and drawn out, but the power was there. The hot, red, suffocating fog of anger cleared out of my mind, and suddenly I was back.

There was blood all over my hand, and the guy I was hitting was loose within my grasp. He wasn't even trying to fight back, ninny. Coach pulled me away, and the weird buzzing in my ears snapped into focus. He was yelling, and I wasn't listening as he pulled me and the other guy down the hall. The only thing I paying attention to was Scott, standing at the edge of the crowd. _Alpha,_ my mind supplied, too out of it to come up with anything else.

Coach led me to the office area again, shoving me towards a chair and shaking his head in exasperation. He pushed the other guy towards a chair, too. "Ryan, AJ, I am very disappointed in you." He shook his head again and stomped out. I didn't care. It didn't mean anything coming from Coach.

I scowled, crossing my arms and slouching in the chair. That was stupid, very stupid of me to lose it like that. Crap. First this morning, and now this?

What was wrong with… Oh. It was a full moon tonight. Somehow in the mess that had been last night and this morning, I had forgotten about the full moon. It seemed a little ridiculous given the fact that both Scott and Derek had mentioned it several times the last few days.

I scowled down at my shoes, trying to calm the burning anger inside me. To my left, Ryan slouched, almost identically to me, blood sluggishly leaked from his nose. I was drowned by the salty, coppery musk of it. _Wrong_, my brain screamed at me. _Wrong, wrong, wrong_. But there was another part of me, deep down, that liked it. I shifted in my seat, angling myself away from Ryan and his blood.

Ms. Morell walked by, and I slouched lower in my seat. She stopped, backed up a few steps, and peered into the waiting area, her face becoming heavy with disappointment. When she saw Ryan next to me, her shoulders slumped. "You got in a fight, AJ?" God, she was almost as bad as Derek. I hated disappointing either of them, but I didn't even like them. How did that even work?

Ryan stood up, going to get another tissue for his nose. I glared after him, feeling edgy and slightly out of control with the scent of so much blood. Ms. Morrell hesitated, her eyes getting slightly wider. "It's a full moon tonight," she said, quietly enough that Ryan didn't hear.

I shrugged. Good job, lady. You figured it out. _Now leave me alone_, I wanted to say. But I kept my mouth shut.

"I'll talk to the vice principal, see if we can't keep you from getting suspended. Hopefully, you'll get detention at the most." I shrugged again, not caring in the least until I heard her next words. "They'll still have to call Derek, though." My head whipped up, and my heart started pounding. Oh, no. He was going to kick me out for sure after this.

I remained slumped in the chair for the better part of an hour, dreading the impending confrontation with Derek. Footsteps sounded out in the hallway, and my stomach twisted in awful anticipation. But Derek didn't walk into the waiting area. Instead, weighty blue eyes stared down at me as the figure filled the doorway. Peter. Peter had come instead of Derek. Relief swept through me, followed by suspicion. Why was he here?

Peter exhaled loudly through his nose, cocking his head to the side as he stared down at me. Then Vice Principal Anderson came out, casting a questioning look at Peter. Peter moved his annoyed half-glare up to Anderson, before giving me a slight nod. "He's mine," Peter said, somehow packing extreme inconvenience into those two words.

Anderson extended a hand. "I'm Eric Anderson, vice principal of Beacon Hills High School. I take it you're Mister Hale." Peter didn't contradict him, since it was technically true, and Anderson nodded firmly. "Let's step into my office for a chat." He beckoned me in with one finger, and I got up, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I slunk into the office under Peter's unreadable gaze.

I sat in one chair, and Peter took the other. Anderson sat in his, steepling his fingers as he set his hands on his desk. "Ms. Morrell has informed me of AJ's situation, and given that he's had no other issues, and his teachers all give good reports of him, I think we can safely say that there is no need for a suspension. That being said, physical violence is not tolerated here at Beacon Hills High, and there _will_ be disciplinary action taken."

I zoned out—staring at the corner of Anderson's desk—not interested in the current conversation. He went on and on about responsibility and some other stuff that I didn't pay attention to.

Eventually, Peter reached over and gripped my shoulder, tightening his hand painfully. I gritted my teeth against the pain and sat up, tuning back into the conversation. "He understands. Don't you, AJ?" Peter asked dangerously.

I gave my most serious nod, and Peter relaxed his grip. Anderson nodded gravely as well and cleared his throat. "Well, we're done here. I expect to see you in detention this coming week, then, young man." My hands involuntarily curled into fists at the patronizing term, and Peter's grip tightened again. I ground my teeth together and stood. Peter shook Anderson's hand, never once lessening his grip on my shoulder. Then we walked out, and it wasn't until we reached the hallway that Peter finally released the vice on my shoulder.

I hissed, rubbing the sore spot, but Peter just snorted. "You're lucky I picked up Derek's cell phone instead of him. My nephew still has a sadly misguided appreciation of the education system." I shuddered to think what Derek would do to me if he found out about this.

"Are you going to tell him?" I asked bluntly.

"Why would I?" Peter had the beginnings of a crooked smirk on his face.

I glanced at him as we walked, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Is that a no?" I asked, honestly not knowing—not when dealing with him. I pushed through the front door of the school, fighting the urge to take a huge breath of fresh, unenclosed air.

"Do you want it to be a no?" He was smiling by now, and it irked me. What was his game? Why couldn't he be like Derek who just said whatever he meant?

"Yes," I said, trying to keep the heat out of my voice.

"Then it's a no." Peter motioned to a small black car, and I got in the passenger side, staring out the window as he started to drive. There was merciful silence, but even that too was broken. "Did you at least kick his ass?" Peter asked, sounding a little too curious.

No. I had punched him in the face. Repeatedly. Oh. Figure of speech. I already knew that one. I should have recognized it sooner. _Stupid_, I was being stupid. This was why not speaking had its advantages. No one can call you stupid if you just keep your thoughts to yourself. "Yes," I said finally, having determined that to be the most correct answer.

The corner of Peter's mouth twitched into a smile, but I didn't know why that would even matter to him.

We drove around for a little bit, getting gas and doing other small errands. Only when the clock said three did Peter take me to Derek's. I got out of the car, hesitating by the door. I felt like I should thank Peter, but at the same time I didn't want to. Saying thanks made me feel like I owed him something, and that was not something I wanted to feel towards Peter.

His mouth curved into a slow grin. "You're welcome," he said playfully, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I turned away, feeling a little out of sorts. Man, this day just kept getting weirder. I slammed Peter's car door, just to let him know how I felt, and then climbed the steps up to the loft.

Derek was waiting for me. He didn't look angry or violent, which meant he probably hadn't heard what happened. But he drank in my appearance with a careful eye. It made me glad I'd shoved my bloody hand into the sweatshirt pocket.

"Did something happen today?" His eyebrows took on a life of their own, arching upwards until his face took on an especially probing look. Did he know? No, he couldn't.

I looked at him, feeling the words swirl around in the air like buzzing flies. There was a truthful answer buried somewhere deep inside my brain, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to dig it out. "No," I told him shortly, turning away and going straight to the guest room. Once there, I collapsed on the bed and refused any further movement.

Derek came and stood in the doorway. He did that a lot, I noted. I could practically envision his crossed arms and disapproving frown. But he wouldn't be getting anything else out of me, though. That much was clear as I lay practically comatose on the soft mattress. I felt like something was sucking all the energy out of me and like my brain had turned into a puddle of mushy Twinkie filling.

I sighed, hating this day with a burning passion, and shoved everything out of my mind. Only when it was blissfully empty and dull, was I able to give in to the considerable pull of sleep.


	8. The Call of the Moon

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

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><p>I ached all over when Derek woke me up only a few short hours later. "We need to go," he said quietly, instead of his usual command to get up. I sat up slowly, feeling the pull of a dozen different muscles. They were sore and sluggish, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to run to loosen them up or simply lay down again.<p>

Something unfurled in the pit of my stomach, and I slipped out of the sweatshirt Derek had given me. For a second, I shivered over the sudden loss of warmth. Derek gazed at me, one eyebrow raised, but then I felt it. Heat rushed through me, much like it had earlier today. The extreme, radiating warmth stopped the pathetic shivers, and I was good to go.

We walked down the steps, and I let the cool air wash over me. It was countering the inner heat nicely, and it made me feel way more alert.

Upon reaching the car, I stopped, hand resting on the door handle. _Run, run, run,_ my instincts nagged at me. Derek climbed in, starting the engine. The blood rushed to my head, making me light-headed. _If you run, even he can't catch you,_ whispered the little voice in the back of my head. And I wanted to run. I really did.

The window in front of me rolled down a few inches. "Problem?" Derek asked. His tone said he knew exactly what my problem was, and I struggled to put a leash of the wild, raging urges inside me. Derek could help me tonight. For better or for worse, I trusted him. Mostly. That was a big deal. I could count on one hand the number of people I trusted.

I dropped my hand from the door handle. Derek shifted in his seat, grim faced. If I ran, he would stop me. Try to stop me. I was faster than him, that much I knew. But he had more experience. "Get in the car, AJ," Derek said, sounding a little tense. I ignored him, clenching my hands into fists at my side and closing my eyes. _I will run,_ I promised. _Just...not now. _

The primal part of me considered it, then slowly backed down. It was hard to explain, but in a few seconds, my body no longer felt like it was in overdrive. I let out a massive breath that I hadn't known I was holding and climbed into the car.

Beside me, Derek said nothing. We drove for I don't know how long. I spent the ride trying to keep myself calm. Derek spent it brooding and silent, which I supposed was just par for the course. Par for the course, that was a golf term. I was getting better at figures of speech, even if I knew nothing about golf.

The buzzing in the back of my skull started again, and I suddenly wanted to do something violent. Preferably now.

I clamped my hands down on my knees, desperate to distract myself. "How do you play golf?" I asked Derek, pouncing on the first thing that came to mind.

He looked over at me, surprised. His mouth opened, maybe to say something sarcastic, but then I think he caught on to how much I was struggling. His mouth clicked shut again, and he accelerated. "Golf is a game where you hit a small ball with a long club. You're basically trying to send the ball way down through a course to a...small hole in the ground."

Hmm. Hitting a ball with a club. That sounded fun. Maybe a source for venting my aggression? Lydia kept telling me I needed to find one. "Keeping things locked inside isn't healthy, AJ," she'd said, patting my arm. I had remained silent, because I'd known that she did it all the time. I could tell, listening to her heartbeat or just smelling the mix of hormones and sweat that came off her. Sometimes during school she would have these tiny panic attacks, where her heart would race, and she would be terrified for a minute or so. Other times, she would freeze up, like she was listening to something far away. Her heart would would pound then, too. But she never told anyone about it, so I didn't put much stock in her advice.

"I could play golf," I said, still hung up on the hitting things repeatedly part. Unaccountable rage bloomed like a firework in my chest, and I gritted my teeth, trying to hold it in.

"Breathe," Derek commanded, his voice cutting through the haze. "Just breathe through it. In through the nose, out through the mouth." I struggled to follow along, but eventually the hot pulse of rage faded, leaving me shaking. I slumped against the seat, glad I hadn't done anything...regrettable. "We're almost there. Keep talking. Why do you want to play golf?"

I didn't want to keep talking. I liked to listen more than I liked to talk. And really, he sounded suspiciously like Ms. Morrell when he said it. But I could feel a complete lack of control swirling just under the under the surface, and I didn't want to lose it again. Not while driving. Not with a full moon. Not again.

I pushed against my temples with the heels of my hands, as if I could just hold the wildness at bay with my bare hands. "I like to… I like to hit things. Sometimes when I'm mad I can't help it." I clenched and unclenched my hands uselessly.

"Yeah. So I've heard. Sheriff Stilinski called to see if you were okay after what happened today at school. Imagine my surprise when I heard you'd gotten into a fight and a Mister Hale had picked you up." I slumped low in my seat, squeezing my eyes shut and wondering if my life was over. But then Derek snorted. "You would hate golf," he said dryly. "There's a lot of walking. And talking." He paused, sending an unreadable look in my direction. "But I could teach you how to fight. How to control it when you get mad." I sat up, suddenly interested, but didn't have a chance to answer.

Derek stopped the car in front of yet another warehouse. "Let's go." I unbuckled, glad we were dropping the whole fight topic. Then Derek had to go and ruin it. "And AJ? We _will_ talk about the fight later." I dropped my forehead onto the dash with a loud thunk. Awesome.

Another heat wave swept through me, leaving me restless and miserable. I clambered out of the car, quickly catching up to Derek. He strode into the murky warehouse, going straight to a gray box on the wall. Pulling open a panel, he pushed something upward with a click of metal, and dim bulbs lit up randomly throughout the warehouse.

I hissed, shielding my eyes against the sudden onslaught. When I lowered the hand that was over my eyes, I saw a broken down, old bus. Some of the windows were missing, some broken, and there were deep gouges marring the exterior. Beyond that was a weird scattering of broken crates, cardboard boxes and weird wooden spindles. They were too orderly to be random, and it took a second before I realized what I was looking at. It was an obstacle course or something. And if the three faded, yet distinct, wolf scents were anything to go by, this was a training ground of some sort. Emphasis on was. Everything in here smelled old. Faded, forgotten.

Yet here we were. My nose twitched, catching the scent of old blood. A shudder ran through me. My vision got very narrow, and I homed in on a rusty bloodstain against the concrete floor. My heart started to pound, and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I wanted blood. I wanted to hunt, to kill. And I wanted it now.

Derek reappeared in front of me, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me along. I stumbled along side him, trying to get the bloodlust under control. It didn't work, and I was so hot that it was hard to concentrate. Derek pushed me downwards, and my legs gave out as I collapsed, pressing my back against a metal pillar. It was cool through my thin t-shirt, and I sagged against it, not liking how my body was on the fritz.

The scent of metal grew stronger around me, and something heavy wrapped around my wrist. My eyes snapped open, and I took in the leather cuff connected to large metal links of a chain. Derek. Derek was chaining me up.

Heat flooded me, and my spine arched as my muscles heaved. I snarled at Derek as he fought for control of my other wrist. No. I didn't want to be chained up. I wanted to run. I wanted to be free. He pinned my arm down, slipping on the second leather cuff with ease. I struggled and yanked, but he'd already finished and stepped back.

Lunging forward, I came to an abrupt stop, coming to the end of my chains. God, I couldn't even stand up all the way. I lunged again, ignoring the pain as my muscles strained savagely against the unyielding restraints. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. I was trapped.

Derek stood only a few feet out of reach, just watching. Rage flooded me, an exact repeat of this afternoon, and I lost it. My claws came out, and my vision took on a different, more detailed red glaze. Scents flared up around me, clearer than before, and I threw myself at Derek. I was going to kill him. I knew just how to do it, too. Slash a hamstring to cripple him. Then go for the throat. He'd be dead inside a minute.

A low snarl bubbled out of my throat as I heaved and twisted. But no matter how much I wanted to get free, I couldn't. That didn't stop me from trying.

Time passed. I couldn't keep track of the minutes with the bloodlust peaking and receding like crazy. Eventually, I calmed, lying in a heap on the cool floor, panting, and hurting. The remains of my protein shake was splattered in a puddle of vomit beside me. I'd hurt something, trying to get free of the chains. The pain helped a little, burning a tiny path through the bloodlust.

Derek was crouched on my level, still just out of reach. His lips were still moving, and the words buzzed in and out of my conscious mind, sometimes getting through, but most often just drowned out by the haze of rage that kept ahold of me. I tried to focus on what he was saying, to actually hear his words, but it was just as futile as my attempts to get loose.

I pushed myself upright, feeling the desire to tear Derek's throat out as his scent roiled over me yet again. A single beam of moonlight speared through a hole in the ceiling, pooling on the floor in clear white light. I could feel its pull, could feel the need to let go of everything. I tilted my head back, remembering the long, fast runs. The ground pounding under my paws, the cool breeze rippling through my fur. I remembered gazing up at the moon and just howling. Howling in quest of a pack to answer my solitary call.

I tuned back into reality, realizing that I was howling now. It wasn't a roar. It was nothing compared to the raw power Derek and Scott put into their calls. But it was mine, and it sang through the air, lonely and haunting.

My howl dwindled away when my breath ran out. I sagged back against the pillar. Even Derek felt the pull of the moon, his eyes flaring blue and fangs coming out. _Wolf_, my fatigued, out-of-control brain processed. Then the anger crashed back over me again, compelling me to strain and reach for Derek again.

There was a noise from the far side of the warehouse, back from the way we'd come in. Derek pivoted on his heels, searching for the source. But I already knew who it was. I knew that scent. Knew it and liked it. Lightly floral, hint of sweat. It was Lydia. Fresh meat. I pulled against the restraints with renewed strength. Derek was growling out garbled words, but I didn't hear him.

Because another scent was spreading through the air with insidious presence. Death. Decay. Disease.

Ghoul.

The ceiling behind me shattered, sending thin pieces of metal sheeting crashing to the ground. I twisted myself like a pretzel, trying to get a good enough angle around the backside of the pillar to see what was happening. Amongst the fallen debris were four crouched forms.

Pain in my shoulders and neck forced me to turn back around, and I was just in time to watch Derek appear, shoving a dazed Lydia towards the bus. She drifted over to it mechanically and climbed inside. Derek yanked the creaky door shut then hurtled over to me.

His claws made quick work of one of the leather restraints, and as soon as my hand was free I swiped at him. He leaned back easily, cuffing the side of my head hard enough to daze me. Then he took the opportunity to free my other wrist. I shook my head clear, sliding to my feet and pivoting towards the four putrid beings that caused my every instinct to scream danger.

Moonlight shone through the hole in the ceiling, hitting me full in the face. I flicked my eyes off the hunched bodies up to the cold orb in the sky. My mind went blank, drinking in the light. Then my brain condensed every bit of rage and bloodlust left into pure hostility. A vicious snarl ripped free of my chest, and I flung myself at the shuffling shapes of the ghouls.

I darted and feinted, slashing and tearing at anything within reach. The ghouls were fast and strong, but I was filled with incredible bloodlust. It was no contest. I took the first one down, shredding everything in its abdominal cavity in seconds. It hammered at me in the process, but I was unstoppable. It went still underneath me.

Two hands clamped down on my shoulders, flinging me across the room into the side of the bus. I hit hard and fell to the floor. A second later, another large form came flying through the air, hitting the yellow siding just like I had and crashing to the floor. Derek.

There was a noise above me, and I flipped onto my back just as a ghoul dropped off the top of the bus and down onto me. It felt like getting slammed with a ton of bricks. The breath burst out of me, but I flung an arm up just in time for the ghoul's yellow teeth to grind and tear into my forearm instead of my throat. Hot burning pain coalesced on my brain, enraging me, and I used my free hand to slash at the ghoul's stomach before flinging it off. The ghoul stumbled back a few steps, just in time for Derek to snap its neck.

It went down in a heavy heap, and I prepared to launch myself at Derek, still wanting the pleasure of ripping his throat out. My muscles tensed, and I'd almost committed to the move when a piercing scream rented the air.

Lydia.

For a long second, the eerie wail was the only thing that ricocheted around in my brain. Then I was back. Not the bloodlust driven me, not the out-of-control predator—me. Clear-headed me. I whirled, recognizing Derek as an ally and went for Lydia. Kicking open the bus door, I bounded up the stairs and into the narrow aisle between seats.

A ghoul finished dropping through one of the ceiling emergency hatches in the roof of the bus, and it advanced on Lydia, wide back to me. I could see half-healed jagged claw marks, stark against the sickly gray skin. This must have been the one Derek had fought in the cemetery. It was bigger than the others, and the scent of decay was nauseatingly stronger too.

I snarled, sacrificing my element of surprise for the chance that the ghoul would leave Lydia alone and come for me.

It worked.

The ghoul spun, jumping from seat to seat like a fricking grasshopper. It smashed into me, driving me to the ground and slamming a heavy knee into my ribs. It hurt. It hurt a lot, but that was fine. I would heal, Lydia would not have.

I heaved and bucked, able to get out from under him, but unable to really go anywhere. His fist came out of nowhere, exploding across my jaw and I fell backwards onto a seat. I pulled my legs up, despite the sharp pain in my side, and slammed them back out, catching the ghoul in the stomach. It was the ghoul's turn to fall into a seat, and I used the time to scrambled out of my seat and back into the aisle. I didn't attack again. Instead, I just put myself between Lydia and the ghoul.

In history, we'd read about the American Revolution. Mister Yukimura had pointed out that history was full of smaller forces repelling larger, better trained armies because they were relentless and unyielding—generally creating enough ruckus that the larger forces were forced to give up and retreat.

I was tired, and a lot of me hurt. I was running low on energy, and I honestly didn't know if I could beat this ghoul. But I did know that I could be a "pain in the ass," as Coach sometimes called people, until the ghoul reconsidered. Or, it would just, you know, kill me. There was always that.

Still, it was worth a try.

The ghoul got up, steadying itself, and we looked at each other for a moment. It was sizing me up, maybe, deciding if Lydia was worth the fight. It feinted towards me, probably wanting to measure my reaction. I bared my teeth in challenge.

Outside the bus, there was a victorious roar. Derek, killing the fourth ghoul, was my guess. The ghoul facing me hunched a little, glancing out the window quickly. I took a step forward, forcing its attention back to me. It took a step back, which I thought was a good sign.

Footsteps pounded up the three steps, and Derek appeared at the front of the bus, sandwiching the ghoul between us. It turned sideways, looking back and forth between us for the barest of moments. Then it planted a foot on a seat and exploded upwards out the other emergency hatch. It was gone by the time Derek ran forward and looked up.

I sagged sideways, the bite on my arm burning white hot.

"Lydia?" Derek growled. I felt really dizzy, so I felt it best to just sink into one of the seats and wave him back to where Lydia was huddled. She was fine. I knew that without having to look, but I was too tired to go to her. Derek brushed past me.

"How did I get here?" Lydia whimpered slightly. "What happened?"

"You tell us," Derek said. Then he let out a grunt, and there was a heavy thump. Oh great.

"Derek? Derek, wake up!" Lydia called, just short of shrieking. I heaved myself upward, staggering down the aisle towards them. Lydia was shaking Derek, and Derek was lying on the floor. His shirt was bloody in a couple different places, and I wondered if he'd been bitten. A cursory glance revealed that he had. Several times. I kicked open the back door of the bus and jumped down to the ground, dragging Derek out behind me. He was heavy, and I was on the verge of falling over, but somehow I got him to the warehouse door. Lydia opened it, seeing Derek's SUV parked next to her Prius.

I dragged Derek over to the passenger side of his car and heaved him up into the seat. Then I crawled into the backseat. Lydia climbed into the driver seat. "Keys?" she demanded, twisting in her seat. "Where are the keys?"

"Left pocket," I murmured, closing my eyes. I'd seen Derek stuff the keys into his front pocket as we'd walked in, which meant they should still be there. A few seconds later, the car started, and we were moving.

Next thing I knew, Lydia was telling me to open my eyes. I didn't feel inclined to, so I ignored her. She slapped me, which made my eyes open up right quick. "Really?" I groused, bringing a hand to my cheek. I bit off the rest of my complaint when I took in her flushed, terrified look.

I slid out, knees buckling a little when my feet hit the ground. I steadied myself, throwing open the door. Derek was awake now, but he was moving as slowly as me. I got him out and upright, turning forward to see our destination.

We were back at the animal clinic. Derek leaned heavily against me, arm slung over my shoulder, and I looked up at him. "No," I begged.

"Yes," Derek gritted out, once and only once.

So, of course, we went inside.

It sucked. Deaton was very liberal with his Narcissus powder. Derek had been bitten three different times, so Deaton did him first. Just hearing Derek's pain was almost enough to make me run, but I hung around. The bite on my arm was hot and red veiny things were spreading outwards from it. Deaton had to clean it first like last time. Despite being shaky and pale, Derek came up beside me, pinning my other hand down to the table. He didn't take away the pain this time when Deaton sprinkled the powder into the bite, but I barely fought anyway. I was too tired, and I was in constant pain right now. Plus, I kept telling myself that Derek had made it through the same thing three times, and he hadn't even tried to kill Deaton, so I figured I'd just shoulder the pain and try to be like him.

Finally, it was done, and Deaton backed away, giving me a wide berth. I slid off the table with shaky legs to match Derek's, and we left. I vowed I'd never come back to this place. Lydia was gone when we got out to the car. "Went home," was a note scrawled on the bottom of the driver side window in lipstick.

I climbed in, feeling like I wanted to sleep forever. But it was not to be.

"—ake up. AJ. Seriously? Get out of the car." What? Derek was saying something, and he didn't sound happy, but I was too comfortable to care. With monumental effort, I cracked one eye open. We were at Derek's loft, and he had opened my car door, letting cold air in. My eye slid shut again as sleep tugged heavily at my brain. Derek gritted his teeth, his voice sounding far away. "I'm not carrying you. Get up, or you're staying in the car."

I didn't move, and pretty soon, I was completely out of it.

The next time I woke up, I was shivering like crazy. It was dark out, and for a second, I didn't know where I was. Slumped under Derek's jacket, I realized I was in the car. Oh. True to his word, Derek had left me. Scowling against the cold, I pulled the jacket on and clambered out of the car. Up the steps I went, and soon enough, I was pulling open the metal door. I shut it and dashed—in record time—to my room. After draping the jacket over the chairback, I dove under the covers and promptly fell asleep again as they warmed with my body heat.


	9. Detention and Dads Suck

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

A/N: So sorry! This chapter has been long overdue! Anyways, this one is a bit more...canon? Is that the right word? It kind of touches on the relationship between Henry and AJ, which I think was completely lost in the actual show (Seriously. Has Malia even mentioned her "dad" more than once?). Ok. That's all. Author rant over. Actually no, not over. Teen Wolf doesn't come back until July. JULY! How are we supposed to last that long? I'm already waiting for Sherlock. How can they do this to us? Ok. Now my rant is over.

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><p>There was no terse command to get up from Derek, which meant I slept late into the morning. When I finally did drag myself out of bed, it was only because my stomach hurt, and I could smell the food that Derek was making. I recognized the pain easily. Unfortunately, it was one I was intimately acquainted to—hunger.<p>

I slogged through my morning routine and picked through the cache of still new clothing. I didn't care what they looked like. I just pulled the stiff, crusty jeans off and the new, soft pair on. My shirt followed, landing in the growing heap of dirty clothes, and I snagged a new one out of the shopping bags. Without the weird flashes of heat, I was back to being cold again, and Derek's old hoodie went over the shirt. Then I dragged myself out of the room, dreading having to drink the horrible protein shake again.

It was ready for me by the time I slumped my way into the kitchen. Derek was making himself some new version of eggs, putting cheese and some little pieces of sausage onto a flat egg pancake before folding it in half. I slipped onto the stool, eying my shake with distaste. Instead of drinking it, I watched Derek cook. His egg-taco-looking-thing smelled great, which only served to remind me that my breakfast did not.

My stomach pinched painfully at the scent of meat, and I reached out, downing the protein shake before I could think better of it. Derek levered the egg thing onto his plate and turned away from the stove, forearms anchored on the counter as he cut the egg pancake into neat, bite size pieces. He ate slowly, ignoring me, and I watched him with hooded eyes.

When there were only three or four bites left, he set the fork across the edge of the plate and slid the whole thing over to me. I gazed down at the morsels. They were probably barely warm now, but at the same time, I didn't care. I was tired of liquid breakfasts.

The plate was empty in a matter of seconds. I chewed as slowly as I could make myself, trying to force myself to savor the taste. It didn't work. The food settled in my stomach, and suddenly it felt heavy. It was a good feeling, though, and the hunger pains had long since left.

"What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?" Derek startled me, both with his question and the subject matter. I had briefly entertained the notion that he'd had forgotten our deal. Four days of protein shakes, and I got to choose the fifth breakfast. With everything going on, it would have been easy for him to just drop the extraneous details.

Extraneous: irrelevant or unrelated to the subject being dealt with. One of the words I had to know for my English quiz today. I winced, realizing that I'd meant to study yesterday, but it hadn't happened. That was okay. I could just study in the library before class. Lydia would help me.

"Breakfast?" Derek prompted. He was waiting for an answer. I'd gotten sidetracked.

The possibilities flitted through my mind, one after another. There were so many options, it was unbelievable. Finally I settled on what was probably my newest favorite thing. "Twinkies," I said firmly, pleased at my own decisiveness and the prospect of more creamy, spongy goodness.

"You're not having Twinkies for breakfast," Derek stated sardonically, bringing my excitement crashing down. What? He'd clearly said that I could choose what I wanted for breakfast. And I knew exactly what I wanted.

"You said I—"

"I said you could choose, but Twinkies aren't food. You aren't having them for breakfast."

I was pissed. "You said I could choose what I wanted. Well, I want Twinkies." I didn't understand his problem. He'd _said_ I could choose.

Derek stared me down, unrelenting. He'd lied. He'd said I could choose, but now he was going back on his word. For some reason that hurt. Part of me wanted to push the matter, but the other part of me knew that Derek was only letting me stay here temporarily. I didn't need to make more problems, especially when the future fallout from the fight was still looming over me.

I slid off the stool. "Eggs are fine," I mumbled, heading for the door.

The drive was silent as usual. I was frustrated and feeling a little bit stupid for allowing myself to get so expectant. I'd known this was a temporary situation, but I'd forgotten. This was a wake up call.

Even though I was late to school, I still went to the library, following Lydia's scent. She looked fine, more or less, when I found her. Tired, maybe, as she stared down at a textbook spread in front of her. I could tell she wasn't really reading it. Sliding into the chair next to her, I listened to the rapid beating of her heart. It was faster than normal, which meant she was scared or stressed about something.

"Are you okay?" I asked finally, not sure what else to do.

Her gaze snapped up to mine, and she looked startled. "What?" she demanded. I hesitated then repeated my question. Her startled look faded, replaced by cool indifference. "I'm fine," she said lightly, but her heart rate said otherwise. I wondered if this was one of those times where we all lied about how we were really doing. I even wondered if I should parrot her "not healthy to hold things in" words back to her. But maybe now was not the time. Besides, I had something else I wanted to know.

"What were you doing at the warehouse? How did you know we were there?" I asked, changing topics.

She shook her head. "I didn't. I was in my room, studying, and I heard this...this terrible breathing sound. I tried to ignore it, but next thing I knew, I was at the warehouse, and Derek was grabbing my arm and telling me to leave. But I couldn't, and I don't know why."

"Why did you scream?" The ghoul had just dropped into the bus when I'd run up the steps. That meant that Lydia had screamed _before_ it had found her. It wasn't a regular scream, and it had somehow broken through my bloodlust and rage, which begged the question of why, or even how, she'd done it in the first place.

Lydia stared out over my shoulder, unblinking. "It was too loud," she said faintly. "The breathing, it was just...too loud."

The bell rang, startling the both of us. Lydia stood quickly, sweeping her books up and walking out. I stared after her, more confused than when I'd started the conversation. And I'd missed the quiz in English. Crap.

The day passed sluggishly. I kept my head down, spoke very little, and generally wished I was anywhere else but school. Most of my classes dragged on uneventfully. I didn't mind. There was a kind of comfort in the dull mediocrity that was public education. I didn't want to be there and neither did anyone else.

We ran again in P.E. I didn't push myself, didn't keep pace with Kira. I just jogged along in the middle of the shambling horde, and Coach kept giving me dark looks every time the group chugged slowly past him. At the end of the run, he snagged my shoulder. "Disappointed," he muttered under his breath. To me, he said, "Don't forget. Detention starts right after school in Mr. Nelson's classroom." Then he stalked away, still muttering about wasted potential and glaring at his clipboard.

I changed out of my shorts and dragged myself to detention. I didn't know what it was yet, but I gathered that it was probably punitive in some manner.

I was right. And it was so much worse than I imagined. There were only three of us, sitting in the classroom, and for two hours we did just that—sit. It was a substitute teacher who ran it. He leaned back in the swivel chair and propped his feet on the desk, crossing his arms over his paunchy stomach and closing his eyes. Anytime any of us moved or talked, the teacher would open his eyes and glare. Sometimes he would threaten more detention. I wanted to die.

When he released us at five, I was the first one out the door, and I practically ran outside. I paused after bursting out the door, taking huge breaths of air that weren't contaminated by body odor and the reek of Pot.

I was well acquainted with the smell of marijuana. As a coyote, when I'd first noticed the unfamiliar smell, I'd traced it to the source. There were two men camped out in the woods, guarding a little patch of green leaves. They'd stunk—both the leaves and the men—and the men had taken shots at me when I'd come to investigate. I'd repaid the favor by waiting until they were away to steal their food and urinate all over their sleeping bags.

One of the boys in detention had smelled like Pot, and I wondered if that was why he was in detention in the first place. After clearing my nostrils of the offending odor, I looked around. Derek was waiting for me, arms crossed, leaning against the hood of his car. When he saw me, he shoved off and went to the driver side. I pulled the strap of my backpack higher and walked over.

When we got home, I was itching for a run. I took the stairs two at a time, having gained a couple hours worth of edgy restlessness in detention. I stripped out of my jeans and pulled on some shorts, somewhat elated at the prospect of feeling the air on my face and the ground against my feet. But Derek had to go and ruin that too.

I started to edge by him, heading towards the door, but he stopped me with a hand on my chest. I glared, but it had no affect on him. "Peter's coming over. Said he found something about the ghouls." I narrowed my eyes, not the least bit interested in Peter and maybe only two seconds away from forcibly removing his hand.

Derek might have known what I was thinking, because he dropped his hand. The unspoken threat was still there, though. "Stay close. The ghouls are still out there, and we don't know how many there are."

I was still miffed about the whole Twinkie thing, so I set my jaw stubbornly. I could stay close, close-ish, and still run. I would be gone and back before Derek even knew it. _Before he could even stop you_, the little voice niggled. Then, as if leaving no wiggle room, Derek shook his head. "Stay...close..." he ground out. God, he was a freaking mind reader.

I scowled, but ducked my head in an affirmative. Derek walked off, looking grim, and I chewed my bottom lip, trying to figure out what I was going to do now. In the end, I went back to my room and grabbed my history book. Of all the subjects, history had the most catch-up required. I knew very little, and there was apparently a couple hundred years of things to cover. After procuring the book, I went outside.

If I couldn't go running, the closest thing I could get was sitting on the steps in the sunlight. I plopped down, book on my lap. It was warm, and everything was quiet. Once again, I realized just how much I liked staying with Derek. It was better, so much better, than staying at Eichen House. Than staying with my own father, even.

That thought hit me in the stomach, and I felt a pang of...regret, sadness? I didn't know. It was something, and I didn't like it. To take my mind off my father's betrayal, I opened the book to the appropriate chapter and started reading.

The sun soaked into my skin, and I found it harder and harder to stay focused on crazy men throwing tea off boats. My eyes slid shut, and I leaned the side of my head against the cool metal of the railing. I could stay like this forever, I decided.

Before I knew it, something nudged my foot. "I know history can be dull sometimes, but it's not supposed to put you to sleep." Peter. I opened my eyes with a yawn, not realizing I'd fallen asleep. Peter was standing a few steps below me, my history book in his hand and a bemused expression on his face. The book must have slipped out of my hands when I'd fallen asleep.

I blinked at him, still disorientated with sleep. "Go inside," he told me with twitch of his chin up the stairs. Almost instantly, I was overcome with the desire to do anything _but_ go inside. Peter tilted his head at me with a resigned sigh, like I was a small, willful child. Stilinski sighed at Stiles like that a lot. "Go inside," he repeated. "You'll want to hear what I have to say." I didn't. I really didn't. But he had my book, and I really had nothing else to do. I scowled at him but clambered to my feet and went up the stairs. Peter smirked, knowing he'd won, and followed me up.

Peter didn't give me back my book until he was sliding the loft door shut behind us. I snatched it from his hand and sulked to couch, tossing the book onto the coffee table. Derek came down the winding stairs, and the three of us met in the living room. We sat, Derek and I on the couch with Peter on the chair facing us. Peter pulled out a laptop, opening it and spinning the screen to face us.

"Ghouls consume human flesh," he said, with no further introduction. "The empty graves at the cemetery were probably either resurrected corpses or lunch. That being said, ghouls are relatively weak and easy to kill in their beta form."

I thought back to the ghouls I'd fought. They hadn't been too hard to kill, but I _knew_ they weren't weak. "At least ghouls are until they—the closest word to the Arabic lore is convert… So they convert human flesh somehow and then eat it," Peter clarified. "All the research I've found is a little gray in that area." He glanced between Derek and I when we both bristled a little. "I take it you've experienced it first hand?"

"The saliva," Derek said after a moment. I rubbed my forearm, remembering the awful pain. "Tissue exposed to the saliva becomes necrotic."

Peter shrugged, unconcerned. "The victim has to be alive while they are 'converted.' Once that happens, the ghouls consume the flesh and take on the secondary form. It takes months to mature, but they're basically quicker, stronger, and faster healing."

I thought about all the ghouls we'd seen. They were all dead except for that one big one. Derek's slash marks on its back had been mere lines when I'd seen it. Fast healing. And it was strong, I knew that personally. So that one was in secondary form, then. The rest didn't matter. They were dead.

Peter studied Derek's grim expression with slight amusement. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?" he asked playfully. When neither of us said anything, he huffed almost petulantly. "The good news is that ghouls are territorial. There's no way there is more than one in secondary form." He fell silent, waiting.

"And the bad news?" Derek growled, when it became clear Peter was going to wait until someone asked.

"It's nearly invincible," Peter said. All his manipulation and game-playing was done. He was dead serious. "Ghouls are apex predators, and the longer they live, the stronger they get. You need to be careful."

I scanned the ancient documents on the laptop screen. The ghouls apparently locked onto certain prey—the supernatural kind. Ghouls got stronger the stronger their prey was. I leaned back, looking down at my shoes and I tried to work through what that meant for us. Twice now the ghouls had targeted us. Or…

"They're after us," I murmured quietly. Peter and Derek went quiet, and I looked up. "They're after us. Or Lydia. Maybe both," I conceded. "The stronger the prey, the stronger they become."

Peter stared at me, calculating and pensive. Then he closed the laptop and stood abruptly, taking it with him. "Don't go anywhere alone," he said sharply, pinning me in place with his gaze the same way Derek so often did. I squirmed a little bit, not liking the pressure, and then I nodded, wondering if that's what he was waiting for. It seemed to appease him, and he walked quickly out of the loft.

I snagged my book off the table, glancing over at Derek's contemplative, blank face.

He remained still for a long moment before twisting to look at me. "Keep an eye on Lydia at school." It wasn't a request, but it also wasn't the demanding tone that Peter had taken. I nodded, already having made up my mind to do just that. I wondered if keeping an eye on Lydia merited skipping detention.

As if knowing my thoughts, Derek gave a half grin. "How was detention today?"

I scowled. "Sucked," I grumbled.

Derek snorted. "Good. Maybe that will help think before you act." I wrinkled my nose at him, but it was different. This kind of talking wasn't heavy. It was kind of playful, even. I wasn't used to it, but I didn't dislike it. I grinned, suddenly happy.

My phone rang, and I answered without really checking the screen to see who it was. "AJ," I said by way of greeting.

"Hey, kiddo." It was my father. I froze, my grin fading. My stomach twisted painfully, like someone had just kicked me. How did he even get this number? God. What was I supposed to say? Silence stretched on. "I...I was just calling to see, um, to see how you were doing." Henry sounded just as nervous as I felt. My mouth went dry, and all my words left me.

"I'm...good," I said after an awkward pause. Derek was looking at me, and I knew he could hear every single word of this trainwreck conversation, so I turned away, unable to take his watchful eyes.

"Good. That's good," Henry murmured. "Eichen House called and informed me that you had checked out. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Sheriff Stilinski said he found you a place to stay."

That was it. No asking if I needed help, no invitation to move back. He was just trying to make himself feel better. My chest ached, and I didn't even know why. I wanted to hit something, badly. But I wasn't even angry this time. My fist clenched, and my throat got all thick and prickly.

"Yeah," I said, unwilling and unable to say more.

He let out a sigh of relief. A sigh. A freaking sigh. "I'm glad. Well, I have to go. Lots of stuff to do. I'll call you again sometime soon?"

"Yeah." It was the only thing I could squeeze out of my thick throat. He hung up, and I was left holding the phone up to my ear with an ache in my chest. "If you need anything, I'm just a phone call away."_ That's_ what Sheriff Stilinksi had told me when he'd dropped me off with Derek. My own father had said nothing of the kind. Just an ambiguous "call you later."

Derek stood up, not making a big deal over the conversation. He left the room, which I appreciated since I wanted to simultaneously hit something or maybe even cry.

Cry. Where had that come from? I very much so did not want to cry. Yet my eyes were prickling and my chest hurt. God, emotions sucked.

My phone rang again, and I checked to see who it was this time. Stiles. "What?" I ground out, my voice still thick and gravely.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "My dad gave your dad your cell phone number. I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Yeah, got it." The pain in those clipped words was evident, but I didn't know how to make my voice change. I wasn't in control. _What else is new?_ I thought bitterly.

Another long pause. "Sorry," Stiles said quietly, strangely serious. He knew. He knew Henry had just called. He could hear it in my voice. Why couldn't he have warned me sooner? And why the heck was my chest hurting? I was over my dad. He had betrayed me, and now this? I didn't need him. Didn't need anyone.

Stiles hung up since there was nothing else to say. I brought the phone down away from my ear, staring at it. Then my fist clenched tightly, and I flung it away with all my might.

Derek appeared in the doorway, reaching out and plucking the phone out of the air easily before it shattered against the wall. He didn't berate me or say anything. He just tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Let's go," he said.

I stared at him, chest heaving, hands shaking. He stared back, solid and unyielding. "Let's go," he prompted again, and then he walked out.

I followed, feeling lost and not knowing what else to do.


	10. The Window

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.

A/N: This chapter is still kind of canon. I have no idea what Derek does with his free time when he is not brooding. But since he remodeled his own loft, I figure he's at least kind of handy with tools and such. Whatever. Life goes on. Tell me what you think. This was a weird chapter in my opinion. I won't be offended if you don't like it.

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><p>Derek took me back to the warehouse where I'd turned during the full moon.<p>

I lingered in the doorway, not totally comfortable with coming back here. But Derek disappeared inside, leaving me with nothing else to do but follow. I was doing that a lot today, following Derek.

I walked into the training area, somewhat overwhelmed by the heavy scent of decomposition. It wasn't fresher than last night, though, which meant Derek had come back sometime since then and gotten rid of the bodies.

"We're going to track the remaining ghoul before he can make more friends," Derek said. I nodded. That was a logical move—take out the source. My nose twitched, and I rubbed it with a finger, not liking the dead smells permeating the place.

Derek came up on my right, looming in my peripheral. "Let me clarify. _You_ are tracking the ghoul." I looked up at him, surprised and then resigned. He grinned. "I seem to recall you saying you had a better sense of smell than me. Besides, this will help you learn control."

Shoot. He had me. In more ways than one, really, since he reached out and dragged me forward with a steady hand. We came to the place where the ghouls had dropped through the ceiling.

I stood there, clenching and unclenching my fists. It was hard to focus with all the pain and betrayal that I was feeling, but the wild part of me was never very far under the surface. That's why I sucked so much controlling it. After a minute, Derek shook his head. "You're not focusing. Just calm down and breath in the scent. Focus."

I shot him a dirty look, telling him what I thought of his advice.

Tracking. It was something I could do on even my worst days, something that was practically hardwired into my brain.

I shook out my muscles, readying myself. My heart started to beat faster, but I didn't fight it. This was a hunt, and every part of me was excited.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, pulling in air through my nose. The air around me exploded with sensate activity, and my brain processed it eagerly.

Male wolf, near to me. He smelled of anger and strength. I dismissed it, not sensing a threat.

Blood and sweat of other wolves. Those scents were faded and weak. Barely there, even. I ignored them as irrelevant, moving on.

The next scent was human. Fragile, afraid—Lydia.

Despite the wild desire to run, to hunt, I lingered over Lydia's scent. The slight tang of sweat mixed with flowery perfume, it was humanity. It was just so her, and I liked it.

Finally, realizing Derek was still waiting, I pushed Lydia's scent to the back of my mind. Not dismissing it, just storing it for the time being. Then I keyed into the last, and the strongest, of the scents.

Death. Decay. Wrongness. It hung in the air with surprising repugnance. I drew in another long breath, trying to differentiate between the four different versions. Two were weak, not entirely heavy with decay. The third was stronger, but the fourth blew it away. I honed on the stench of rot, cementing it in my mind and storing it back with Lydia's scent. Then I started moving.

I followed the scent through the warehouse, towards the back. Derek trailed behind me, but I put him out of my mind, intent only on the hunt. We wound past pillars and rubble, ending up at the entrance of a sloping tunnel that went into the floor. I paused by the entrance, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. In my mind, I touched over Lydia's scent again, drawing comfort from it. Then I plunged into the murky tunnel with mounting excitement.

I don't know when I started running. But I was, and Derek's footfalls behind me let me know that he was still with me. I followed the scent through the tunnel, breaking off into a smaller shaft when the smell veered to the right. Scaling a rusty ladder, I burst out into the an alley. The scent was still strong, though, and I took off down the street. It was dark out by now, but I loved it. The wind was up, blowing in my face and bringing me the scent as I ran.

The tension was back—between the instinctual urges and my human self—so I let everything go, no longer forcing the urges down. I ran faster, completely locked onto the scent. My heart pounded with excitement, and I was filled with complete and utter joy. This is what I loved. Running. Hunting. This was it.

I ran long and hard, loving every second of it. The scent was distinct and easy to follow.

In fact, I only faltered once. Skidding to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, I turned in a circle, having lost the scent. I inhaled carefully, discarding one by one the multitude of other smells assailing me. I turned more slowly, drawing in another breath. There. I glanced to the left, seeing a wall. Backing up, I took a running start and jumped, catching the top with my fingertips and heaving myself up and over. Jumping down, I grinned. The scent was back, and it was stronger than ever.

I took off, heading down the dark alley. I was already at the end of it, turning into the street when I heard Derek's shoes hit the pavement. Still with me, then. Good. I accelerated, drinking in the passage of the ghoul. It wasn't running like prey, weaving and evasive. It was going in straight lines, like a predator.

I followed it easily. Followed it all the way to fenced yard. Then I stopped, slightly confused. The ghoul had lingered here. If the shredded grass underfoot was any indication, then it was agitated when it had. The scent was different here, too, flooded with rage. Even as the wild mix of hormones invaded my nostrils, I felt my own anger well up. My claws came out so fast that I almost impaled my palms as my fists clenched. I shook out my hands, trying to fight off the red haze sinking over me. Spinning in a circle, I desperately sought Derek. He could stop this, he could force me back into control.

The wind shifted slightly, bringing a new scent to me. _Alpha_, my foggy brain screamed. Scott. Scott's scent was all over this place. Unbidden, his words ran through my mind. _Concentrate on the thing that makes you human_, he'd said. I hadn't thought of anything like that yet, but I had the next best thing. Forcing myself to be still, I drew on the memory Lydia's scent, the humanity of it, and pulled it to the forefront of my mind.

My heart was pounding, but I focused on Lydia's scent. My hands needed to hit something, but I thought about the way Lydia's heart raced randomly throughout the day. Red haze settled over my vision, but I remembered Lydia's long scream in the warehouse.

And just like that, the animalistic urges slowly faded. My vision cleared, my heart rate slowed. Even the claws and fangs receded. I'd done it. I'd gained a little control. Scott had said to find an anchor, and I guess I inadvertently had.

There was a new scent in the air. It was subtle, and in my anger I had missed it. Another ghoul. Two more, now that I was focused. Two more, but they were dead. I studied Scott's house, seeing a sheet of wood in place of a second story window. More than anything, I would have bet the ghouls had smashed through that window. Scott had probably killed them.

Derek finally caught up to me, breathing heavily. Part of me was happy. I was happy that I could outrun him, but it wasn't the nice kind of happy. It was more mean spirited, which confused me. He looked me over, hands on hips as he breathed deeply. "You controlled it," he said.

I nodded, feeling a warm glow inside my chest. I had controlled it, and that was progress. That was very good progress. Derek turned his attention towards the house, stiffening. "The ghoul came here?"

I nodded again. "Two more. They're dead. I think it made him mad."

Derek frowned. "Scott's an alpha. The stronger the prey, the more power a ghoul gains. Why didn't it come here in the first place? Why did it try to fight us first?" I was pretty sure that he was thinking out loud, so I remained quiet. Something occurred to me, though, and I opened my mouth to share. But I remembered how often I sounded stupid just saying the first thing to come to mind, so I just shut it again.

Green eyes settled on me. "What?" Derek growled. "If you have something to say, just say it."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Maybe he thought we were easier targets? The three of us in one place? Killing us might give him a better chance against an alpha." Then something else occurred to me, backing up my previous reasoning. "The ghouls here were young. Really young. Maybe the big one was just testing Scott, seeing how he'd do against minor opposition." Mister Yukimura had said something of the same in class today. I couldn't remember the exact term, but I'd gathered that sometimes soldiers were viewed as expendable in order to test the enemies weaknesses.

And it was logical. If the two ghouls had defeated Scott, then he wouldn't have been worthy fighting anyways. If not, then the big ghoul knew Scott was strong—powerful enough to kill and gain strength from.

Derek gave me a funny look and opened his mouth, like he was about to say something. But I heard a car pull up in front of the house, and Derek skirted around the fence, heading towards the front. I trailed behind him, unsure of who we were going to find.

By the time we reached the street and sidewalk, the person had already climbed out of the car and had the back hatch open. Derek cleared his throat as we walked up the sidewalk towards the driveway, and the person straightened, jumping slightly.

"Derek," she said, putting a hand over her heart. It was pounding, which meant we'd startled her. She was tall, and dressed in some funny purple clothes. Lydia would have called them lilac colored, but they were just light purple to me.

"Mrs. McCall," Derek said politely. Oh. She was Scott's mom. I guess that made sense, since she was at his house and all. She stooped again and pulled out a brown sack full of groceries. It looked heavy.

Derek nudged me forward, and I stood there awkwardly for a moment before Scott's mom flashed me a grateful look and offloaded the bag to me. Oh. They wanted me to carry it. I held it dutifully, not knowing what else to do. Scott's mom reached back into the car, fighting and struggling to maneuver out a long, reflective object. It was big and bulky, and in the light from car, I realized it was a large window and frame.

Derek took it from her, hefting it easily as she closed the back hatch on the car. Then we followed her inside. It was brighter in there, and I got a better look at her. She was tall and thin, her skin a light brown. Her curly hair was pinned up behind her. She had kind eyes, and an easy smile, but she looked tired. Exhausted, really. I knew the feeling.

"You must be AJ," she said, taking the bag from me and setting it on the counter. I nodded mutely, not quite sure what to make of her. Turning to Derek, she got down to business. "You're here because of the things that broke in last night?"

Derek nodded, still holding the window. "Scott…" she trailed off with a slight shudder. "Scott killed them," she finished, her voice stronger. Then she turned away flustered. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

Derek looked a little take aback, and I wanted to ask if she had any Twinkies. But Derek shook his head, so I followed suit, shaking mine as well. "Do you have a drill?" Derek asked out of the blue. Scott's mom shook her head, rubbing one eye with a flat hand.

Her shoulders slumped. "Not one that works, anyway," she said softly.

Derek set the window down. "We'll come back tomorrow," he said simply. I looked up, wondering why. But he was already moving towards the door. Scott's mom walked after us, not saying anything until we were standing on her porch.

"Is it safe to stay here?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Derek replied, and I had to agree. The scent I'd found was old, and the ghoul most likely wouldn't be coming back tonight. If he was wary of Scott, then he'd probably want to make some more reinforcements before taking on an alpha. Before taking on any of us, really.

"Okay," Scott's mom said, and she shut the door.

We walked down the steps and onto the street. Derek looked at his phone, sighing. "Let's go," he said, heading back in the direction of the warehouse and car. Once again, I followed him.

It took us a while to get back. I didn't mind. Being with Derek was easy. Easier than school, easier than Henry. I was still thinking about why that might be when we got back to the car and climbed in. The drive was silent as usual, and I relaxed, feeling more at ease than I had in days. When we reached the loft, I went up the stairs and took a shower, washing away sweat from the run. Then I went back to my room and, in a rare fit of goodwill, cleaned up the pile of clothes on the floor and took it to the washing machine. I stuffed the mess inside, somewhat at a loss for what to do next. Shrugging, I turned away, leaving it for Derek to do as I walked out of the room.

Two seconds later, I was frogmarched back to the machine and shown which buttons to push and how to add detergent. After that, Derek slapped the back of my head and strode away. I scowled, rubbing the slightly stinging area with a hand. Then I went back to my room and sat on the bed. My goodwill didn't extend towards homework, and soon enough, I just tipped over and fell asleep.

Derek didn't tell me to get up, so I slept in late again. When I finally did pull myself from the warmth of sleep, I remembered, belatedly, that yesterday was Friday. Today was Saturday, which meant no school.

I sat up, feeling unsurprisingly elated at the untold possibilities that today held. No school. I could do whatever I wanted. My cache of clothes in shopping bags was still there, so I pulled on fresh jeans and a t-shirt. It was a dark blue shirt, this time, and I didn't want to ruin in like I had the last blue one.

Once clothed, I walked into the kitchen. Derek was cooking scrambled eggs in the frying pan again. He divided them up on two plates, pushing one towards me. I picked up my fork and mechanically ate as much as I could. Earlier on, I'd thought about protesting and not eating. But even I wasn't that stupid. You took what food you could get, because you never knew where the next meal was coming from, and I'd had enough empty, gnawing hunger pains to last me a lifetime.

When breakfast was done, I got off the stool and put my plate in the sink. Then I started to trudge out of the room. Before I got four feet, something small hit my shoulder and bounced off. I turned, and there—lying on the ground—was a golden sponge wrapped in crinkly plastic. A Twinkie. I couldn't help but grin, snagging it off the floor.

Derek didn't say a word, just swung his jacket off the back of his chair and grabbed his keys. "Let's go," he said, yet again. I was too excited over the Twinkie to wonder if those were the only two summoning words he knew.

By the door was a small black duffel bag. Derek scooped it up with a hand as he walked out, waiting for me to follow. I did, and he slid the door shut behind me.

When we got in the car, Derek set the bag down in the back seat. It clanked softly, which made me wonder what was inside. Still, I was too enamored with the Twinkie to really care. I hadn't eaten it yet. I was letting the excitement build. That and I didn't want to piss Derek off with the eventual sugar freak-out that was sure to follow consumption.

Derek wove through town in considerably less time than it had taken for us to run through it yesterday. He pulled up at the McCall house, grabbing the bag off the seat before walking up to the front door. Mrs. McCall answered, letting us inside. She looked a lot less tired than yesterday, and she was no longer wearing the purple clothes.

We walked into the kitchen, just like yesterday, only Derek didn't stop. He picked up the window in his free hand and continued right up the stairs. I hesitated, not sure if I should follow. He didn't say anything, so I stayed, feeling useless. But I had my Twinkie, so maybe this was a good time to eat it, since I was out of his way.

I sat on the stool in front of the counter and pulled the package open. Then I took a small bite, determined to savor the sugary goodness. Scott's mom sat beside me, a cup of coffee in her hand. I closed my eyes, taking another small bite. Then another. God, these were seriously the best things ever.

"You act like you've never had one before," she said after a while. I opened my eyes and looked over at her, startled. I'd forgotten she was there for a second.

"This is my second one," I informed her.

She smiled. "Well, by all means, don't let me stand in the way."

"I won't," I reassured her kindly. She laughed.

"I'm Melissa. Scott's mom." She held out a hand.

I nodded. "I know." I took another bite and then licked my fingers. She let her hand fall. It was only then that I remembered I was supposed to have shaken it. Right. Shaking hands. That was another thing I'd never really done. Whoops. Too late now. "I like your house," I said lamely, trying to make up for it.

She smiled again, but this time it was a little bit sad. I didn't know why. I had just complimented it. Ugh, people were strange.

My fingers started drumming on the counter, and I felt the restless buzz. I knew it was coming this time, so I kind of enjoyed it. My knee bounced rhythmically, and my heart started to really pound. It made me feel really twitchy and I started to breath faster too, which was a funny sensation.

Melissa's brow wrinkled, and she reached over to touch my wrist gently. I was startled enough that I didn't pull away. Two of her fingers were pressed specifically against a certain spot, and I stared at them curiously. "I'm checking your pulse," Melissa said in explanation. I cast her a confused glance. "Your heart. I'm counting how many beats it does per minute."

I looked back down at her fingers, and when she finally removed them, I pushed my own against that exact same spot. Sure enough, I could feel a gently pulsing sensation under my fingertips. My eyebrows shot up. It was fast. Really fast. Of course, I already knew that—feeling it pound in my chest at the same time. But now she knew it too, just by touching my arm, and that was kind of cool.

"It's because of the sugar," I told her, just wanting to clarify.

She smiled and rubbed my back a little. It was weird, but at the same time I kind of liked it. Her cup steamed in front of her, and it gave me a thought. "Can I try some coffee?" I asked, wondering what it tasted like.

She laughed again, pulling the cup close. "I don't think so, kiddo. It might stop your heart altogether." Then she took a sip.

I scoffed, thinking it through. "Not likely. Not for long, anyways. I heal pretty fast."

Melissa choked slightly, covering her mouth with a hand. Then she swallowed her mouthful and continued her chuckle. "Wise guy, huh?"

I shrugged, not thinking I was all that wise. Derek saved me from answering by calling my name. I slid off the stool and headed upstairs. Derek was holding the new window in place, a drill in his other hand. "Come hold this while I screw it in."

I crossed the room, thinking it silly that I had to hold it when he so obviously had things under control. Still, I did as he asked, holding the frame exactly where he'd positioned it. Derek brought the drill up, putting screw after screw. Eventually we changed positions so he could screw the other side. Then he handed me the drill and motioned me back, sliding the window up and down to test it. Seemingly satisfied, he packed all the random tools back in the bag before demonstrating how to take out the drill bit. He put that in a special case with all the other drill bits and shoved it into the bag. Then he zipped it up and handed it to me.

I rolled my eyes, carrying it down the stairs as he carried the sheet of wood and broken window frame. Melissa wasn't in the kitchen when we walked through. "Hold on a second. Let me write you a check," she called, obviously in another room. But we just kept walking, going out to the car and driving away before she could do anything about it. I found that part hilarious.

As we drove, I stared out the window, thinking things through. "Why did you fix her window?" I asked finally, unable to come to any kind of conclusion. He hadn't done it for the money, so I didn't really get why.

"I was marking the house with our scent. The more of us the ghoul smells, the less likely he'll be to go back there," Derek said. I was quiet. His logic was sound. The ghoul had fought him twice and been forced to retreat twice. Maybe it would be more wary if it smelled all three of us at the house. But that still didn't make total sense. We could have hung around in the yard to accomplish that.

I thought about how Derek made me breakfast everyday, how he made sure that I got to and went to school each day. How even though Derek said that Stilinski had forced him to let me stay, he hadn't seemed to make any progress fixing the building code violations.

And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, Derek had fixed the window just because he wanted to.

And that, in turn, made me wonder if maybe—just maybe—Derek wasn't planning on kicking me out the first chance he got.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, mulling that specific notion over. I thought about it for a long time, and I think that somewhere deep inside, I started to hope. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, I had found a person that didn't absolutely loathe my presence—that didn't want to change me or force me to be normal. Hoping that I could stay here, figure out school, and just live my life.

It was a good feeling, that hope, and just for a little bit, I allowed it to bubble up inside my chest. It was warm and elating, so I let myself feel it for a while. Then, knowing that hoping was right up there with being hurt, I prepared myself to eventually pack those feelings away and to carefully smother them with utter single mindedness. I didn't want to be too hopeful, to optimistic, in case it all came crashing down.

But today was good, and that was enough for me.


	11. Death and Pancakes

Disclaimer: TW characters are not mine.

A/N: Review please? I love reviews. They make my day (for realsies, they totally do).

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><p>We pulled into the parking lot of a busy store, and I slumped lower in my seat. I hated stores. Henry had tried to take me shopping in one like this. It was loud, and there were too many people, and the myriad of scents morphed into something massively overwhelming. I was not going to go through that again. I mean, school was pretty busy and loud, but at least that was a predictable chaos. Stores like this were not.<p>

Derek turned off the car and got out. He came around to my side of the car, opening the door. I moved to pull it shut again, but he just held it open with a forearm. "You're coming," he informed me pleasantly. "Get out."

I shook my head.

Derek smiled. It wasn't his nice smile. In fact, it was usually reserved imminent violence or threatening Stiles.

I got out.

I trailed behind Derek the whole time, keeping my fists clenched tightly in my pockets. We walked from one aisle to the next, dropping food into the basket. I didn't pay attention to any of it, knowing I probably wouldn't be eating it anyway. When we got to the bread section, there was a rack of pastries that smelled good. Beside them, though, were crinkly packages filled with Twinkies and other things from the same brand. I came to a stop, my eyes getting wider.

I was in heaven. There were so many things that I'd never tried, and if they were even a fraction as delicious as Twinkies, then I would never have to eat anything else ever again. I twisted, looking for Derek, but he was already gone. I stood by the rack, unwilling to leave it. I wanted Twinkies, but I didn't have any money.

I inhaled, catching a wild array of scents. They were overwhelming, but I fought through all the extraneous smells and sought out Derek's. I found it easily and, with one last glance at the Twinkies, went to find him.

I got maybe three steps before panic welled up and crashed over me. It wasn't mine, per se, but the heady burst of hormones that rushed into my nostrils made me automatically respond. Someone was terrified. I sucked in another whiff of air, starting to run and dodge people as I found the trail. I could hear soft whimpers now, and it made me feel...not right. I didn't like that sound. It was wrong.

I burst through the giant swinging doors in the back, greeted by the sight of packing crates and pallets of food. I skidded to a stop, searching for the scent or the noise. It was quiet, and the scent had changed. There was a sharp tang of urine, but there was also something else. Something faint. It took me a second to figure it out, but when I did, alarm bells went off in my brain. Death. It smelled like death.

My instincts screamed, and I ducked as a ghoul shot through the air, arms reaching for me. I pivoted on a foot, flicking my claws out. The ghoul landed on a crate in front of me. It crouched, jaws lolling wide and saliva dripping from its mouth. It was him, the big one.

I took a step forward, a low growl building in my throat. A noise behind me had me spinning around, though, and I was hit hard by another ghoul. I went flying, slammed to the ground on my back, the ghoul's arms still wrapped around my waist.

It looked human. The skin was gray and kind of pebbly, but it still looked liked a person. The smell had only the barest hints of decomposition, which meant this was a freshly turned ghoul. Regardless, I wriggled and slashed trying to get at it's throat. In the chaos, one of my arms got pinned and the other was wrenched excruciatingly in the wrong direction. Something popped, and my arm went limp. I cried out, unable to stop myself, and the ghoul on top of me laughed. It leaned over me, breathing putrid air and spit in my face as it gnashed its teeth.

It made one mistake, though. It hesitated, as it leaned into my face, unconsciously baring its throat in a way no self-respecting predator ever did. I didn't hesitate, seeing the opening and lurching upward to tear into its jugular with the last free weapons I had at my disposal.

My fangs ripped through muscle and flesh easily. Black liquid spurted—over my face, over me—pouring into my mouth. It burned like fire, leaking down my throat. I coughed and choked, swallowing some and spitting the rest out. The ghoul slumped onto me, but I pushed it off with my uninjured arm, rolling onto my side.

The doors burst open, behind me. I gagged, trying to expel the last of the blood out of my mouth, before contorting around to see who it was. Derek. Thank God. "Der'k," I managed to choke out right before the remaining ghoul made his exit.

He was gone, but he left me a present. Rage, God-awful rage flooded the room. I could smell it in the air. Rage, anger, fury. The acrid mix of hormones flooded over me, and I felt my body respond. My brain went red, and when Derek crouched by me, I leapt at him with a feral snarl.

Derek slammed me back onto the ground easily with a hand to my chest, a look of surprise rippling across his face. I swiped at him with my good arm, and he slapped that to the ground as well. "Control it," he hissed, his voice tight and annoyed. I jerked, fighting to get out from under him, but the movement jostled my elbow, sending pain ripping through me.

The red haze in my mind popped like a balloon, shredded by the pulsing pain in my arm. I immediately went still under Derek, panting and coughing but not fighting him anymore. He eased back, holding his hands up.

Rolling onto my side, I curled into a ball, feeling like my throat was burnt raw and my stomach was going to come out my mouth. Derek heaved me up, murmuring about needing to leave, and I stumbled blindly forward, propelled by his careful grip.

When we reached the car, I collapsed in the passenger seat, wrapping my arms across my stomach with a moan. I was dying, I was sure of it. My inside were eating each other and slowly dissolving into toxic sludge.

Derek didn't say anything, just threw the groceries in the back and started driving. "Wanna go home," I groaned, slumping sideways against the door. He didn't answer, but we drove in a direction that was thankfully homeward.

Fifteen minutes later, I let out a quiet sigh, pressing my cheek to the cold window. We were not home. Not even close. In fact, we were at the last place I wanted to be. The now-familiar, stupid white brick building was mocking me, and I didn't want to get out of the car.

We _had _been heading home until I'd vomited on the side of the road, Derek having had the presence of mind to see it coming and pull over. The vomit, of course, had come out black and yucky. Apparently that had been enough for Derek to pack me back into the car, turn around, and drive to Deaton's torture lab.

"'M fine," I mumbled, trying to talk him out of it as we sat in the parking lot. I felt a lot better after both throwing up and Derek relocating my elbow. He didn't respond, though, so I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him. Derek wasn't even in the car anymore. How the heck did I miss an entire mountain getting out of the car?

The door I was leaning against opened, and I collapsed sideways, not having put my seatbelt on after puking. Strong arms caught me, pulling me out and getting me upright. Ugh, I hated him. I hated him so much right now. He half marched, half dragged me inside, and Deaton didn't even act surprised to see us. I hated him, too.

Deaton didn't waste any time pulling on a pair of blue rubber gloves and asking that I sit on the shiny metal examination table. I refused, though it was more of an issue of queasiness than actual rebellion. Derek took one step toward me, and I huffed, pulling myself onto the table in slow, labored movements.

Four minutes later, I was about to go insane.

"He can't control it," Derek announced to no one in particular.

I rolled my eyes and searching my brain to figure out how I always ended up in this situation. I was back on the hell table, being examined by the doctor. The only reason I hadn't bolted yet was Derek's menacing gaze mixed with his broody arms-crossed posture just warning me to try it. That, and I felt like I might puke again.

Maybe I should just give up on pretending to be a real boy and go back to the woods. There were no ghouls in the woods, no Dereks, no Deatons. No Twinkies, either, but I could probably live without them.

As if to remind me of why I disliked him, Deaton shined a light in my eyes for no reason, and I snarled at him, showing him my fangs. He didn't react, which was kind of disappointing. Derek, however, reacted for him, stepping forward and lightly smacking the back of my head again. I scowled because it was annoying and I hadn't seen it coming, but the gentle slap did its job, and I remembered that Deaton was helping us.

Allegedly.

I put my fangs away, thinking about Lydia until they weren't extended anymore. Derek stepped back, and Deaton tilted his head at me, peeling off his rubber gloves thoughtfully. If that wasn't control, then I didn't know what was.

"I see," Deaton said, getting all wiggly and blurred. "Oh dear," he murmured, taking a quick step back. I slumped forward off the table, vomiting for the second time. Dark liquid splashed against the concrete floor, and I might have fallen off the table if someone hadn't grabbed my waist and pulled me back onto it. As it was, I felt like maybe lying down would be easier, so I did. My head slumped onto my arm, and I lay there on my side. It _did_ make me feel better, which was nice.

"You say he ingested ghoul blood?" Deaton queried. He was crouched by the puddle of vomit, and he took a pinch of the familiar Narcissus powder, sprinkling it onto the small pool. The liquid hissed and bubbled for a second. I watched it for a little bit then closed my eyes. Gross. That had been inside me.

A hand was at my wrist, but I was too woozy to shake it off. "He's not in pain," Derek said quietly. I wanted to remind them that I was in the room, too, and that I was lying right in front of them. "AJ had just killed one of the ghouls when I found him. The blood was all over his face and teeth. Then the main ghoul left, and he just lost it."

Deaton stood, and I listened to his footsteps as he crossed the room. There was a flipping sound, and I identified it as pages being turned in a book. Deaton sighed. "I doubt that had to do with swallowing the blood. If anything, his body is rejecting it. That's why he's vomiting, to purge it from his system."

No, I knew why I'd lost control. They weren't getting it. It was in the air. Whatever hormones and smells the main ghoul gave off were particularly potent. They kept overwhelming and flooding my senses. I couldn't help but react.

"It's the smell," I groaned, forcing the words out right before my stomach heaved again. Nothing came out this time, but my brain didn't send the message to my body, because I kept right on heaving and jerking.

Finally, when the spasms were done, I tried again. "The ghoul gets angry. Then I smell it, and I get angry." I didn't have the energy to open my eyes and check what kind of reaction that gained, but I didn't care. It was the truth. They could do with it what they wanted.

"Sense of smell is vitally important to coyotes," Deaton said in a quiet murmur. He rested his hand on my arm, and I wanted to remove it, because I didn't like being touched. All I managed was a twitch, but it was enough to make his hand lift. "It's possible that AJ is still overly sensitized. Certain hormones _can_ bring out a very primal response. Even in humans, I'm afraid. What AJ smelled was probably a much, much more elevated sense of aggression and anger. It could be enough to jumpstart his own hormonal cascade in response."

_Yes, that's it,_ I wanted to tell him. _That's what keeps happening_. But I kept my mouth shut. I was done with this conversation, done with this clinic. I pulled my eyes opened and dragged my legs of the table, landing in an awkward crouch. I had to get out of here. I couldn't take the voices, the animal noises, and the smells. I just needed to be outside, where the air was clean and things were quiet.

I wobbled along the wall, dragging my hand along it to give me stability. "I'll be outside," I said with the strongest voice I could muster. They let me go, maybe sensing it wasn't worth arguing over.

I felt better in the biting cold. The sun was fading, leaving a cold dusk in its wake. I didn't mind. There was something about it that cut through the nausea and kicked my brain into gear. I ran back through what had happened, actually processing the details instead of just reacting like I had earlier.

The ghoul had turned someone. The person had died and then become a ghoul. It had been quick. I'd heard the soft cries, smelled the moment when the person had truly died. Then I'd run into the room and been foolishly blindsided. God, that had been stupid. Still, at least I'd killed the ghoul. Maybe the main one would think twice about making reinforcements if we just kept killing them off.

No, that didn't make any sense. It would keep making ghouls, that was a given. What we needed to do was hunt it down and kill it. If all of us got together, then we might be able to bring it down. There was no way of knowing, other than just going out and doing it.

I closed my eyes, bringing in several deep breaths of clean air. It was cold, and it stung my nostrils, but it was clear of death and decay and disease. The nausea swirled in my stomach, making my head spin, and I was glad my eyes were closed. Leaning back against the brick, I took slow, even breaths. The nausea passed, and I struggled to open my eyes. They didn't cooperate.

I slid down the wall, not really realizing how close the ground was until it met me with a thump. Then I finally managed to pry my eyes open to mere slits, taking in the hazy gray of the sky. After that, everything went dark, and I didn't see anything at all.

I woke up back at the loft in my bed. Derek was slapping my face and shaking me, loudly demanding for me to wake up. My eyes leapt open, and I flinched away before he could hit me again. "Geroff me," I grumbled, shoving his hands away, not happy with the slapping and touching binge he'd been on lately.

Derek settled back on his heels in a crouch, breathing heavily and swiping a hand down his face. "You weren't waking up," he said roughly.

I scowled at him in response, my face still stinging. Yeah, I wasn't waking up because I _liked _sleeping. Rolling onto my side, I gave him my back and closed my eyes again.

"Up," Derek commanded.

"'M tired," I said, dangerously close to whining. At this point, I didn't care how I sounded. I just wanted to sleep.

"I don't care," he replied sharply. "Get up."

"Ughhhh," I groaned loudly, easing vaguely upwards and pushing my legs over the edge of the bed. Then I stopped moving, slouched rakishly upright with my hands and arms limp on either side of me. Derek was watching me with an expression alarmingly akin to worry.

"You passed out at the animal clinic. I brought you here, and you've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours." His jaw was working, and his forehead was wrinkled. Not to mention his eyes were all solemn and green. Yeah, he was definitely worried. That, in turn, made me wonder if I should be worried.

I dismissed the thought after a mere second, knowing he could worry and brood enough for the both of us.

"I'm fine," I grumbled.

"Come eat something," was all he said in reply as he stood up and strode out of the room.

"Not hungry," I groused after to him. He didn't seem to notice.

I sighed. Asleep for twenty-four hours? Yowza. I didn't feel like I'd just slept for an entire day. A nap, maybe. A day, not even close. Pushing the blankets aside, I stood up. No wobbles, no spinning vision. I was fine. Looking down, I realized I was in sweatpants and a clean shirt. Damn it. My blue shirt was gone, no doubt in the trash, since it had been covered in ghoul blood and gunk. That was two blue shirts I'd lost to freaking ghouls.

I moved slowly over to the desk—muscles for some reason sore—and pulled on Derek's old sweatshirt, which was draped over my backpack. Ugh, my backpack. It was Sunday night, and I hadn't done any of my homework yet. Poop.

I unzipped it, pulling out the first textbook I saw, and shambled to the kitchen. Derek was mixing something in a bowl, and I was wholly thankful it wasn't a protein shake. Climbing onto the stool, I slumped down, resting my elbows on the counter as I flipped open the book and started reading.

The words stared up at me, and it was like they were in another language. I blinked slowly, realizing they _were_ in another language. My dang Spanish book. That's what I'd grabbed. And I distinctly remember my Spanish teacher telling me that if I couldn't say anything more than "hola" and "quiero Taco Bell," by next Friday she was going to give me an F in the class.

"Hola," I muttered, defiantly sticking to the single Spanish word I could say and recognize one hundred percent of the time.

Derek gave me a sideways glance, but he kept adding and mixing ingredients into the bowl without comment. "Como es-estas?" I muttered, scratching my head. God, why did they need me to learn an entire other language? I just got back from eight years in the woods where I spoke no language at all.

"Cómo estás," Derek said quietly, not looking up from where he was stirring the stuff in the bowl.

"Eh?" I inquired, feeling like I'd just missed something.

He bent down and opened a cupboard, pulling a pan out. "It's pronounced 'cómo estás.' It means 'how are you.'"

"Hola, cómo estás," I repeated, putting the three words together in some form of greeting.

"Bien," Derek answered. "Y tú?" I stared. "Good, and you?" he clarified, raising his eyebrows in expectation.

"Bien," I said slowly. Derek turned away from me, pouring the stuff in the bowl into the pan. It started crackling and cooking. I stared at the stove top, replaying the conversation and trying to cement it into my memory. This was good stuff. If I walked into the classroom and asked my teacher how she was, then that would totally put me in her good graces.

"Hola, cómo estás?" I said quietly to myself. "Bien. Y tú? Bien." There. My own little mini-conversation. Derek levered what I now recognized as a pancake out of the pan and plopped it on a plate, sliding it across the counter to me. I stopped it, staring appreciatively down at the pancake. I liked pancakes. Maybe I was hungry after all.

"Gracias," Derek said, giving me an unreadable look. I stared at him cluelessly. "It means 'thank you,'" he said dryly, a slight smirk on his face.

"Oh," I said, cutting a large piece of pancake with my fork. I stuffed it in my mouth. "Gracias." Derek shook his head slightly, but he went to the refrigerator and opened the door. Lifting the plastic dome thing at the top of the door, he pulled out a little plastic capsule out of the compartment and tossed it to me. I caught it easily and was delighted to see it was a container of syrup from my pancake dinner at the diner. Score!

I tore the foil top off and liberally doused my pancake in syrup. The syrup was sweet, like the Twinkie, and I wondered if that was because it had lots of sugar in it. I hoped so.

Somehow, despite previous experiences, I finished the entire pancake. Never mind that Derek ate four pancakes in the time it took me to finish my one. My plate was empty, save for a few smears of syrup, and for some reason it made me a little bit proud. I pushed it away from me and leaned back, raising my hands over my head in a stretch as I let out a burp. Then I slumped forward, resting my forehead on the book. I was full and warm and tired. "Can I go back to sleep now?" I asked quietly, hoping Derek would be in a good mood since I'd finished everything on my plate.

"No," he growled. It wasn't an angry growl, but he definitely wasn't happy. I didn't know why, but then again, when was Derek ever happy? Still, I could envision him pouring cold water on me if I fell asleep here, so I dragged my head upright and pulled my book off the counter before heading for the couch.

"Plate," Derek called after me in annoyance. I sighed, pulling an about face and snagging my plate off the counter to put it in the sink. Then I went to the couch and dropped onto it with a huff. I sat with my back against the armrest, bending my legs so that the book was on a steep hill. Sleep tugged at my brain with a gentle touch, but I pushed it away, rubbing my eyes and focusing on the Spanish book.

"Pre-guntar," I sounded out slowly. "Gracias para preguntar," I said, a little bit more confidently. Thanks for asking.

"Por," Derek called out of the kitchen. I heard the clink of dishes and the splash of water. "Gracias _por_ preguntar."

I closed my eyes, dropping my head against the book again. "Gracias por preguntar," I repeated in a monotone. Spanish sucked. But there was no avoiding it. "Hola, cómo estás?" I quizzed myself. "Bien. Y tú? Bien. Gracias por preguntar." There was silence, and I decided that I hated school. I hated almost everything about it. "I'm not going to school tomorrow," I announced, tilting my head back and staring up at the big ceiling windows.

In the kitchen, there was a sharp bark of laughter. Ah, well, it had been worth a try. My brain felt a little bit fuzzy, and I blinked slowly. It was a sleepy fuzzy, though, not a sick fuzzy. So that was good, at least. "Coach wants me to try out for the cross-country team," I announced to the windows. "Kira told me."

Derek's big form appeared in the doorway, and in my peripheral, he leaned against the frame, crossing his arms. "Do you want to do cross-country?" His tone had a funny lilt to it, which confused me. Was it a bad thing if I said yes? I was too tired to think about it.

"I don't know." There, that was a safe answer.

"Yes, you do," Derek prompted, proving me right about being able to sense my lies.

"I want…" _to stay here with you_, my brain filled in. I stopped just short of saying it, my heart suddenly pounding and heat flooding my cheeks. Where had that come from? What was wrong with me? "I don't know," I repeated, tipping my head forward again and staring lasers at the page of Spanish words.

Derek didn't say anything more. He just walked away. I heard dishes clink softly in the kitchen, then quiet. A minute later, Derek prowled back— near silently—and dropped onto the other end of the couch. He had a book, just like me, except he appeared to actually want to read it.

I peeked at the title. _The Great Gatsby_. The cover looked weird, but Derek seemed engrossed, so I went back to my Spanish. _Hola, cómo estás? Bien. Y tú? Bien. Gracias por preguntar, _I told myself again and again. So help me, if this was the only thing I could say, then I was going to say it well.

I must have gone through the greeting a dozen different times before my eyes somehow ended up closed. I didn't even realize it had happened until Derek broke through the soft floaty-ness. "Stay awake," he reminded me pointedly from the background. I cracked my eyes open just a tiny bit. He wasn't even looking up from his book.

Stay awake. I needed to stay awake for some reason. "Mh-hmm," I hummed in submissive confirmation, and then I promptly fell asleep.


End file.
